


Pain and Servitude

by FluffyPancakes151



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Prime
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Because apparently the summary isn’t obvious enough, Bondage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Falling In Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Mpreg, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shattered Glass, Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Torture, Transformer Sparklings, Transformers Spark Bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyPancakes151/pseuds/FluffyPancakes151
Summary: The war is over. The Autobots won, the Decepticons lost. And what better way to humiliate your long time enemy than by keeping them as a slave?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Truthfully, I wanted to write something like this for a long time. I’ve seen lots of fics where Autobots were the ones who lost and I wanted to try and flip it around. I love deceptions and I like angst,so.. there you go.

Knock Out whimpered, servos clawing at the leash his collar was attached to with feral desperation as he was dragged roughly to the elevated platform. His weak struggles however , were left unnoticed by the guard as the mech shoved him onto the platform. The noise of the crowd surrounding it rose as he was forced to take his place on ‘podium’, wolf whistles and jeers reaching his audials, clearly meant to be heard. Armor prickling in shame, Knock Out diverted his gaze elsewhere.

Seven other mechs already stood there, but only one looked up when he was made to stand beside them. Knock Out felt his spark clench at the sight of Breakdown’s battered frame and lone golden optic so full of sadness and despair, helplessness and barely restrained rage.

He wanted to reach out to the mech, feel those strong servos wrap securely around his frame, offering the familiar sense of comfort and safety, wanted to feel his bondmate’s presence within the bond that had been blocked off by the Autobots that held them captive. But he couldn’t as the painful pressure of the shock collar on his tender neck cables reminded him.

He saw Breakdown’s optic flash in fury when he caught sight of the barbaric device, but the former wrecker could do no more than clench his dentai and curl his servos into fists.

Knock Out looked away, shame filling his field as his plates clamped down on his protoform, making him seem even smaller. After months in a dark dank cave the state of his finish had completely deteriorated. 

His armor had long lost it’s deep cherry red hue, replaced by a dirty rusty color. The surface was no longer as smooth as it once was, marred by deep scratches and gashes. The stale energon, thankfully, had been washed off, just in time for the ‘ceremony’.

Knock Out knew what that meant and it made his tanks churn and roil as if he were about to purge. 

To further cement their victory over the decepticons, each member of Team Prime would be rewarded, given the choice of claiming one deception officer.

It was a well-known fact that warframes usually made the best carriers as their large size and sturdy armor were the perfect conditions for sparklings. And what better way for the Autobots to humiliate their fallen enemy but by keeping them as personal slaves and carriers for their offspring?

Knock Out was not a warframe, but his armor was still sturdier than most bots’... and he was a ‘Con, the CMO of Megatron himself.

Speaking of which...

His lord and master stood at the very beginning of the line they were made to stand in. His armor was in no better shape than Knock Out’s, maybe even worse in fact.

There was barely anything left of his spiked shoulder pauldrons and like Knock Out’s his plating was littered with markings, signaling multiple past beatings.

Despite knowing what was coming, the warlord stood tall, his optics alight with rage and a disgusted sneer on his faceplates. But Knock Out could tell beyond the facade of defiance, Megatron was distressed. He like all of them understood the hopelessness of their situation and some small part of him was frightened, terrified even .

Soundwave stood next in line after Megatron. Knock Out watched as one of the guards approached and tore of his visor to the delighted jeering of the crowd to throw it to the ‘con’s feet where it promptly shattered to thousands of pieces. The silent mech didn’t even flinch, if his violet optics weren’t focused on the shards at his pedes it would even have seemed as though he did not notice the removal of his mask. 

The Autobots soon got bored of the apparent lack of reaction, but the decepticons, who were very familiar with the silent mech, knew better. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. 

Soundwave’s frame shook, the faintest of trembles traveling over his plating as he stared at his destroyed mask as if he couldn’t believe it was gone. The silent ‘con hated showing his face and the medic could tell that it was taking all of Soundwave’s strength not to cover his faceplate with his servos.

Starscream stood next. Unlike Megatron and Soundwave’s his distress was far more visible. The clawed digits kept flexing in their restraints, his wings were held low and pressed firmly against his back and his whole frame was hunched over, as if he wanted to make himself invisible. When the guard passed him so he could stand behind the restrained ‘cons, the seeker flinched back causing the crowd to roar in laughter. The poor flier’s field colored with shame.

Beside him Shockwave twitched, his E.M field withdrawing even more than it usually was. The only signs that the scientist was in any state of distress were the dimness of his single optic and the tense way he held himself. Nevertheless he watched the jeering crowd and even though he had no face the disdain he held for them was obvious.

Beside the scientist Airachnid hissed, silver fangs glinting in the light as she glowered at the crowd, her spidery appendages lifting in a threatening manner, or at least what was left of them. The blades had been cut off and the rest locked in a stasis cuff similar to the one locked over Starscream and Dreadwing’s wings.

Knock Out couldn’t help but wince at the sight. There was no ounce of pity for the femme in his entire frame, but he was first of all a medic and he could tell by first glance that the job was done clumsily. Wires hung from the ends in a tangled mess, occasionally sparking and there were patches of dried energon where the lines had been crudely sealed.

Knowing the Autobots, they wouldn’t have given her any pain dampeners. It must’ve hurt.

As for Dreadwing, the seeker held himself stoically, much like his master, helm high and his optics bright with controlled anger and contempt, servos curled into fists where they were bound together by the stasis cuffs. 

The movement in the crowd caught his attention as the Autobots shifted to the sides, creating a wide walkway. Knock Out felt his lines run cold as he realized that this was it. 

Eight figures were walking towards them and he didn’t have to look closely to realize who they were. Involuntarily he took a step backwards only to be shoved back by the guard to the great glee of the audience. He knew they were enjoying the decepticons’ fear, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, optics wildly seeking out his mate.

He didn’t- couldn’t notice that Starscream was now on the ground, tackled and successfully pinned by a guard, that Dreadwing stiffened beside him, that Shockwave’s antennae abruptly canted back.

Minutes seemed to pass like ages and then they were standing there, in a line like their captives. The claiming was about to begin.

Suddenly Arcee stalked forward, her servo grasping the chain connected to Airachnid’s collar. The black femme only just managed to keep her footing as she was roughly pulled toward her long time foe. Energon dripped from the corner of black lipplates.

Knock Out saw Arcee pull the femme closer, saw her whisper something to her captive, witnessed how Airachnid’s helm lurched to the side from the heavy blow she was dealt.

With growing horror he noticed that not one member of Team Prime seemed to be even remotely bothered by the unwarranted violence.

Not waiting for Airachnid to recover, the two wheeler pulled her off the stage, disappearing into the crowd.

The next was the scout. The medic felt a small glimmer of hope as he saw hesitance in the yellow bot’s movements, but the feeling was soon quenched as Bumblebee gently, but firmly took Soundwave’s chain into his servo.

The TIC didn’t even try to fight it as he was led off the platform.

Now there was six of them left. Knock Out dreaded the moment he would be chosen. That would be the end. From that moment he would never be free, he would never be able to race and he would never see Breakdown ever again. He would be imprisoned alone with a cruel master for eternity.

He studied the emotionless faces, the hard blue optics, wondering which one of these monsters would he be sentenced with.

After Bumblebee had successfully made his way off the stage with his chosen slave in tow, Ratchet stepped forward. He seemed to consider the mechs in front of him, before venting a heavy sigh and taking Shockwave’s chain.

The deception scientist looked up, his dim optic meeting teal ones. During that single second an entire conversation seemed to pass between the new master and slave before the old medic signaled for them to leave the stage.

Ratchet hadn’t even reached the last step before Smokescreen bounced forward, obviously more than excited at the prospect of a personal toy.

Knock Out kept his optics locked on his pedes and just waited for the rookie to pick and leave. 

The shift in his collar and the jingling of a chain brought him back to reality and he looked up, shocked black and red optics fixating on blue ones that were alight with cruel anticipation. Even with the blocked bond he could feel the sudden spike of rage, more intense than ever before, in Breakdown.

He tried to resist as the rookie pulled him towards himself, too weak to put up much of a fight. The servo clasping his chain came up to caress his cheek plate and he felt an unwelcome shiver run down his spine as the other came up to paw at his waist.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you” Smokescreen purred, his voice almost drowned out by the collective wolf whistles and jeering of the crowd.

A sudden enraged yell tore the rookie’s attention away from his prize. Breakdown had torn away from the line, golden optics alight with the desire to kill as he lunged for the mech assaulting his bonded.

But before he could reach them, a giant green wrecking ball came crashing down on the blue mech and sending him to the ground.

“Breakdown!” Knock Out yelled, cold horror seizing his spark as he tried to run to his spark mate, only to be held back by Smokescreen. “BREAKDOWN!!”

He watched and could do nothing as Breakdown coughed up energon before being roughly hauled up by Bulkhead. 

The collar clamped tightly around his throat and he gagged, turning to see Smokescreen already leaving and pulling him along.

Knock Out tried to fight, but he was fighting a losing battle. The last thing he saw of his mate was the Autobot wrecker holding him elevated in some kind of hold and then the crowd closed in around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ratchet could only watch as the two bondmates were torn apart, Knock Out struggling desperately against Smokescreen’s pull and Breakdown writhing in Bukhead’s grasp. But both were too weak and undernourished for their struggles to do much good.

His spark broke at the look of pain, terror and utter helplessness in Knock Out’s eyes as Smokescreen pulled him away, sharp digits clawing at the chain and his helm turned in the direction of the stage where his mate was. 

Ratchet hadn’t even known up until recently that the two cons were bonded, none of them had. They only found out when he had performed a medical examination on each decepticon before allowing them to be claimed. He was the one to block it off and he regretted it ever since.

A block was usually used when both parties wanted to go their separate ways. It prevented the excruciatingly painful and, in most cases, fatal outcome. But this time he was using it for the wrong reason. Knock Out and Breakdown’s bond was a problem for both Smokescreen and Bulkhead. Neither of them wanted to risk their pet’s death when they broke it, although something told the medic that if not for the possibility of death they would’ve enjoyed watching the slaves writhe in agony.

He turned away from the scene in disgust. Ratchet very well knew what Smokescreen would do the minute he got to his suite and he couldn’t bear thinking about it. The sight of the two ‘cons writhing in a desperate bid to get to each other brought the unwanted feelings of pity and remorse forth and he didn’t want to dwell on them. He knew that this was wrong, that this went against his every principal, against everything he fought for, but he also knew that he couldn’t do anything about it. Not at that moment.

What he could do, was help the deception he had been forced to choose. He didn’t want to do anything with Shockwave, nobody did and for that reason the council had wanted to lobotomize the scientist. It took everything for Ratchet to convince them not to, that he could deal with him.

He may despise Shockwave, but at the same time he could not watch such a great mind be destroyed. So, he stepped in, which now found him leading the unusually complacent ‘con through the dense crowd. 

He ignored the looks of jealousy towards him, or the looks of hatred, anger and glee towards the larger cybertronian trailing behind him. When Shockwave stumbled, he helped him, ignoring the laughter or the disgust and pity welling up in his chest. Disgust towards the council and pity towards the purple ‘con. Shockwave did not stumble.

Ratchet did not lead him to his suite, something told him that that was the last thing he should do, instead he veered to the right, taking the road that would lead him to his clinic.

After the war had ended, Ratchet set up a small clinic of his own in a relatively nice and quiet place on the edges of rebuilt Iacon where he could work in peace. He had no desire to take part in the political corruption like the rest of Team Prime did.

His comrades had found it odd at first, questioned him about it, but eventually left him alone. They had always known the old medic loved the quiet more than anything and now that he finally had the chance it was obvious that he would take it.

Shockwave seemed to get more and more confused, judging by his glances towards the buildings that got smaller and poorer as they walked. It was obvious that he had expected the medic to take him to his fancy suite in the center of the city.

It didn’t take much longer for them to reach the small clinic. As Ratchet went to unlock the door he felt the chain grow taut and looked back to see Shockwave standing motionless and still refusing to approach.

“Why have you brought me here?” He asked and Ratchet internally winced at the cracking static filled sound. First thing he was going to check was the ‘con’s voicalizer.

Shockwave stared at him expectantly, dim red optic boring into teal ones. Ratchet huffed as he turned back to the keypad. “You expected me to take you to my hab suit.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’d be the logical course of action.” The chain rattled slightly as the ‘con finally dared to approach. “Seeing as your comrades are doing so.”

The door slid open smoothly and Ratchet wastes no time leading the injured cyclops to the nearest examination room. “I don’t tend to agree with everything my ‘comrades’ do.” He rolled his optics as he said it while adjusting the medical berth to a horizontal position and gesturing for the ‘con to sit.

To his surprise, Shockwave did just that, looked relieved even as he finally got off his pedes, his joints whining softly as he moved.

Grabbing the scanner from one of the drawers, Ratchet turned back to the slave, the slight flicker in the red optic telling him that Shockwave was surprised as the ‘con registered the object in his servo.

Ratchet avoided scanning the area where the T-Cog would normally be. He knew that it had been removed and he doubted Shockwave would want to be reminded of that. Instead he focused on other things.

The first thing that got his immediate attention was that the ‘con was terribly undernourished. His energon levels were below 30% and he immediately remedied that by filling a cube with medical grade and shoving it into the astonished ‘con’s servo as he continued the examination.

Shockwave had multiple ruptured lines that were crudely sealed and still leaking, his hip strut was damaged, hence his limp and there was a crack in his optic that definitely obstructed his vision.

Gritting his dentae, the old medic set about repairing, trying to ignore the unsettling optic assessing his every movement.

Shockwave set aside the drained cube on the berth, relief washing over him as the tank levels rose to 64 %. It was logical for Ratchet not to give him more than that due to his condition. What was illogical however was his whole behavior.

The autobots didn’t care about their captive’s condition. If anything, they made it their job to worsen it if possible. And here he was, with one of most loyal autobots kneeling before him, repairing his injured strut. It set off several alarm bells in the ‘con’s head.

Ratchet was obviously trying to fool him with supposed ‘kindness’. He wanted something. Why else would he do this? 

Finally done, Ratchet slid the plating back over the wires he’d repaired and stood up, wiping his servos off with a clean cloth and placing the empty energon cube in the sink. He expected the ‘con to slip right into recharge as the relief surged through his system, so when Shockwave spoke it took him by surprise.

“You want my research.”

Ratchet didn’t give any sign of surprise as he cleaned the work area only shooting a glance at him over his shoulder plate. “I do, but that’s not the only reason as to why I’m helping you.” He stated calmly as he placed the medical items on their respective shelves and closed the cabinet doors.

Shockwave tilted his head, his sharp digits curled tightly over the edges of the berth as he struggled to stay upright. “What else is there?” There was confusion now.

The medic sighed as he approached the ‘con to stand in front of him. He understood of course why Shockwave wouldn’t understand his actions. The decepticons weren’t known to be big on kindness and naturally expected nothing but cruelty from the autobots. And they were right to do so as well. But Ratchet wasn’t like the other ‘bots.

“I don’t agree with what the council is doing, Shockwave. Don’t get me wrong, you deserve to be punished for your deeds, but not like this. Using you as our personal frag toys is disgusting, especially now that we went through all this pain and suffering of the war only to land back where we started. I do want your help, your research, your mind, but I don’t want to be your ‘master’” The last word was spat out with undeniable disgust.

Shockwave nodded, much too exhausted to pursue the conversation, his shoulders falling from their previous stiff hold as his optic dimmed even more. Ratchet picked up on both those signs and gently settled the ‘con to lay down on the berth. They could continue their talk later. 

He shut off the lights as he exited, glancing back at the still form on the berth before locking the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first thing Smokescreen did upon reaching the suite was to make Knock Out clean up himself. Internally Knock Out was grateful that the rookie was too disgusted to help.

He could still feel the phantom touch of those unwanted servos on his frame and was quick to try and wash them away with the cold solvent he had been given, shivering as he did so. It seemed that even though the autobot wanted him clean, he would make sure that the process was as unpleasant as possible.

The paint didn’t quite match his and the medic’s lips curled in disdain. He would regain his usual dark cherry red exterior as soon as he was fed properly, which he doubted would happen. But knowing Smokescreen, the rookie would want to show off his prize as soon as possible and he couldn’t have Knock Out not looking presentable. He hoped for a better meal as the painful churning in his tanks reminded him of his hunger.

When it came to the buffer though, he hesitated. Knock Out still remembered how Breakdown would offer to do it over him. His servos light and gentle on his frame as he would buff him meticulously until his mate’s armor shone with perfection. 

Blinking back tears, Knock Out grasped the buffer in one shaky servo. He couldn’t stop thinking about his bondmate no matter how hard he tried. Images of their time together would come up every time he closed his optics. Breakdown was always so cheerful in his memories, except now he wasn’t. Now the smile was replaced by an enraged snarl, the golden optics that so full of love and care were replaced by dim hollow ones of pain, anger and despair. He wanted to reach out to his mate, to find out if he was ok, if he was safe, but he couldn’t as the ache in his chest reminded him. He would never see Breakdown again.

Just as Knock Out was placing the buffer back down there was a sharp tug on the chain and he was hard pressed to remain standing. The medic let out a painful yelp, sharp digits coming up immediately to claw at the collar strapped tightly around his throat, terrified red optics fixing on the blue form standing in the doorway.

He had no strength to fight as Smokescreen pulled him towards himself, the rookie’s servos instantly starting to roam over his frame with greed. Knock Out felt one of them clamp painfully over his chin and his helm was forced to tilt up to look at the silver faceplate of the autobot.

Smokescreen grinned, an evil glint in his optics and his other servo curled over the slim waist of his slave. 

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I have to write Shockwave ever again it will be too soon. I can’t write Shockwave! Just.. ugh, he’s so difficult. So sorry if he sounds OOCish. I tried.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it’s in the tags, but I’ll post additional warning here: This chapter contains depictions of rape.

Knock Out tried to shrink away from the blue bot, but the vice grip Smokescreen had on his waist and wrist didn’t allow him to do so. A small whimper escaped his throat at the realization that he was trapped.

Smokescreen’s grin widened as he came to the same conclusion, his optics already roaming appreciatively over the red frame. A yelp tore from the medic’s vocalizer as the rookie grabbed him by neck and pushed him up against the wall, servos instantly beginning to wander over the perfect frame, dipping into seams and pulling on wires with greed.

Knock Out struggled, processor in a panic as he tried to think of something, anything, to make Smokescreen stop. He knew this was coming, had known it from the beginning, and dreaded it.

When the rookie pressed even closer, he kicked out, but Smokescreen easily evaded the blow . More than that, it seemed to amuse the bot as he shoved one leg between Knock Out’s thighs, enjoying the look of absolute terror on those pristine faceplates. 

Suddenly, he took a step back and without the support of his frame the medic collapsed to the floor, looking up at him in shock.

Lowering himself to one knee, Smokescreen cupped Knock Out’s face, digit swiping almost lightly over his lip plates, a mockery of a lover’s caress. 

“Get on the berth” He growled, his tone leaving no argument. The rookie reached out and unhooked the chain from the collar. He’d use it for another purpose later on.

When he looked back at the ‘con, Knock Out still hadn’t budged. A frown passed over the silver faceplates. “I said:Get. On. The. Berth.” He hissed, anger rising with each second.

In a rare act of courage Knock Out spat in his face.

A resounding wham broke the silence that had momentarily fallen between them as Smokescreen’s fist collided with the medic ‘s helm. Knock Out let out a cry at the stinging pain as he was sent to the floor due to the force of the blow, sobs rising up in his chest as he cradled a servo over the side of his face. Even without looking in the mirror, he knew that would leave a nasty scuff.

Still dazed from the hit, he didn’t fight when Smokescreen lifted him by his neck, hauling him to the other room and practically throwing him onto the berth. Before Knock Out could even blink, the autobot was over him, servos pinning his wrists to the berth and knee joints parting his thighs.

The medic’s struggles grew more desperate as he heard the unmistakable hiss of the bot’s interface panel opening, spike swiftly pressurizing and already leaking transfluid.

Smokescreen released one of his wrists only to pin both of them with one servo above his helm, making Knock Out whimper in slight pain as his arm cables were stretched taught. 

With one servo free, Smokescreen wasted no time using it as he tapped a digit against Knock Out’s valve panel. “Open” He commanded, his other servo tightening over the medic’s wrists to the point of denting.

Knock Out glared at the form above him, refusing to give in to the fear and hopelessness and pain that was threatening to take over him. 

To his utter confusion though, the autobot smirked. That was the only warning he got before his collar discharged, electricity traveling through his lines, making him scream out loud for the first time that night. 

The rookie’s smirk widened and he leaned forward, his faceplates almost touching the slave’s. “I’ll ask again: Open.” When Knock Out didn’t react, he tutted, servo clamping even tighter around his wrists. “You don’t want another shock, do you?”

Knock Out felt the lubricant build up and then start to trickle down his faceplates. He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Closing his optics, he turned away, the soft hiss of his valve cover opening the only reply he could manage. There was no escaping and he just wished to get over and done with it.

He heard Smokescreen’s voice, but not the words themselves, most likely gloating or mocking praise. Knock Out shut his optics tighter as he felt the rookie enter him, his movements far from gentle, felt him begin to thrust into his body.

All he could think about in that moment was Breakdown. Knock Out felt like he’d betrayed his beloved by giving in. Oh, how his mate would be disappointed once he learned how weak his bonded truly was.

He couldn’t stop the sobs or the screams of pain as Smokescreen rammed into him particularly hard, but the rookie was too busy chasing his own pleasure to care. Knock Out prayed for it to be over soon.

His prayers were soon answered. The medic shrieked, back arching off the berth as the tip of the spike pierced the opening to his gestation chamber, flooding it with hot transfluid as the frame above him sagged slightly in contentment at the release. Knock Out shivered in disgust at the feeling of the rookie’s essence inside of him.

The feeling of his wrists released and increasing pressure on his chest caused him to snap his attention back to his assailant, dull red optics fixing on the digits digging into his chestplate seams.

His struggles increased with renewed panic as Smokescreen pulled the plates apart, clawing his way to his spark chamber. 

Not this, anything but this! Sharp digits dug into the invading servos, but they were too weak to do any good. Finally managing to force the plates protecting his slave’s spark open. With a triumphant grin, Smokescreen leaned over his slave, his own chest plates beginning to open, and stilled.

Confused, Knock Out followed the blue gaze and froze. There, orbiting his crimson spark, was a small golden speck of light. The medic knew what it was and felt his spark fill with the mixed feelings of shock and joy. A sparkling. Breakdown’s sparkling.

An angry vent turned his attention back to Smokescreen and all feelings of happiness instantly drained from him, instead replaced by growing panic at the enraged snarl present on the rookie’s face. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ratchet vented a heavy sigh once he had finally finished with the paperwork for the day, slumping in his chair and just taking a moment to finally relax.

It had been a busy day in the clinic between tending to numerous patients and occasionally coming over to the secluded lab to check on Shockwave.

The decepticon had been shocked at first when Ratchet offered him a lab to spend his time in, but after some consideration agreed. From what the medic had seen, working on projects with real functioning equipment after being stuck in a dungeon with no company but himself made the scientist happier. 

It was a relief for Ratchet to see the scientist so content as he’d been worried that the trauma Shockwave had undoubtedly received at the hands of the prison guards would be too much for the scientist, but it seemed that the ‘con was stronger than he’d first thought.

Seeing Shockwave at work was quite the sight to behold. In mere kliks he’d set up his work table and was currently in the middle of one of his projects that Ratchet had managed to take from the council and that had been cleared beforehand.

Hearing a tentative knock on the door he sighed, a servo coming up to rub at his nose ridge tiredly. “Come in” He called, maybe a bit too sharply than was needed and didn’t bother hiding his surprise when a small yellow bot tentatively entered the room. “Bumblebee? What’re you doing here?”

From what he could tell, the scout wasn’t injured, nor was he sick and it wasn’t every day that a member of Team Prime decided to drop in to visit him, not in this part of town anyway, so what was the young mech doing here.

Bumblebee seemed hesitant to answer as he shifted slightly from pede to pede as if gathering the courage to speak. “I need your help.” He said finally, approaching the Ratchet’s desk. The old medic raised an optic ridge, teal optics fixed inquisitively on the yellow scout.

The young mech sighed. “I want you to rebuild Soundwave’s visor.” Ratchet started. That was definitely not what he’d been expecting. “What?” The question had left his lip plates before he even realized it. Bumblebee looked up, holding the medic’s gaze.

“I know that you don’t like this ‘arrangement ‘ anymore than I do, Ratchet.” He stated with the utmost certainty. The medic cursed inwardly, he’d have to be more careful about his feelings towards enslaving the ‘cons. Thankfully though, it didn’t look like Bumblebee had come to fight.

“Soundwave’s not used to being without a visor to mask his emotions, I can see that it’s bothering him, a lot actually, and I just don’t want him to feel even more miserable than he already is. If I can’t free him, then I at least want to make his life as pleasant as possible, given the circumstances.” The scout looked away, blue optics fixing on the sliver of the dark night sky that was visible from Ratchet’s window. 

His voice was quiet when he continued. “ I’m not saying that he doesn’t deserve punishment, they all do, but this, this is just wrong on all levels. Right now we are no better than them and we were supposed to prove otherwise.” Ratchet leaned forward, placing his servos on the desk. “Well, I’m glad that at least one member of Team Prime is on the same page as me.”

He stood up, walking around the piece of furniture to stand beside the yellow bot. “I don’t have the blueprints of his previous visor to make a copy, so you’ll have to bring him here.” Bumblebee nodded in understanding, opening his mouth plate to undoubtedly ask Ratchet as to the time when he was interrupted by the loud bang of the office door.

It was Smokescreen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the ending was kinda rushed.. Oh well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! I know I’m late, but anyway there you go, a new chapter!

Ratchet sighed and put the scanner aside, signaling for the red mech that he could close his chest plates now that the examination was done. He resisted the urge to curse. This was not good.

The weak brush of Knock Out’s E.M field against his diverted Ratchet’s attention from his thoughts back to his distraught patient. 

Knock Out looked even worse than he did after he was dragged out of the dank cell of Iacon Prison. Dents littered the surface of his entire frame, his left optic was shorting out and judging by how he was holding his right arm with the other he had a broken strut. And that wasn’t even the worst. 

Ratchet knew that Smokescreen raped the medic, it was probably the first thing he did once he got his new slave home, and that he had tried to spark him up right away only to find out that Knock Out was already carrying a sparkling, and that that sparkling was sired by the slave of a fellow team member. So he knew exactly what would happen once he opened those doors.

The first thing the rookie would demand once he got the confirmation would be the termination of the child. And Ratchet could not do that. Looking at Knock Out now, he one for sure that he didn’t give one frag about their violent history, the mech was breaking down and this sparkling was the only glimmer of light in the stifling dark of pain and hopelessness. He couldn’t do that to him.

Frustrated, he wiped one servo over his faceplates, wondering how in Primus’s name would he convince Smokescreen not to terminate. The soft murmuring drew his attention back to his patient. Knock Out sat on the berth with his knees drawn close to his chest and a servo gently caressing the main seam of his chestplates as if to soothe himself and the youngling. 

Ratchet strained his audio receivers, but could just barely make out a few words. One word in particular, however, drew his attention and gave him an idea. Breakdown. Breakdown was the sire of the child and he was Bulkhead’s slave. Which meant that after this, Smokescreen would no doubt storm off to demand payment from the former wrecker as compensation. If Ratchet could play it just right, he could convince the rookie to instead let Knock Out carry to term and then sell the sparkling to Bulkhead once it was weaned. Smokescreen would go for it because he would get money, Bulkhead would be willing to pay because it was common knowledge that he was desperate for non-drone workers and though the child would be taken away from it’s carrier it would be cared for by it’s sire.

But this decision had to be considered carefully. Of course, it would just be easier to terminate the sparkling. It would maybe be better than letting it live it’s whole life as a slave, ridiculed and humiliated, but Ratchet also knew that Knock Out wouldn’t be able to take this loss, he was on the very edge already and if there was any chance that he and Bumblebee ever managed to make the con’s lives better, he didn’t want to be responsible for Knock Out’s suicide.

The choice was obvious. Venting a heavy sigh, he opened the doors and stepped outside before the rookie could enter the room.

“Well?” The annoyance and impatience were practically dripping from his tone. The old medic faced the his team member, firmly placing himself between Smokescreen and the medbay doors. 

“You were right, Knock Out is indeed carrying and the sire is Breakdown.”

“Slaggit!” Smokescreen cursed, slamming a servo against the wall in anger. Ratchet raised an optic ridge, unamused by the rookie’s violent behavior. 

The rookie spun around, optics flaring with barely controlled fury as he stalked back towards the medic. “I want it’s termination, I want it done immediately ‘cuz right now I have a meeting with the council and when I get back that vermin mix better be wiped from existence.” Ratchet felt disgust well up in his spark and his servos curled into fists.

Taking a deep, calming vent he spoke. “I have a better idea: we let Knock Out carry to term.” The rookie reeled back as if he were slapped. “WHAT?!”

“Just let me explain, if you let Knock Out’s sparkling live you will profit from it more than you will from it’s death.”

“And how in the Pit does that work?! I don’t want to deal with it and I’ll be the laughing stock of all of Cybertron once they find out.”

“No, you won’t.” Ratchet said firmly and gestured for the rookie to take a seat in front of his desk. It was quite fortunate that his office was directly connected to the medbay the red mech was currently in as they could have a more or less civil conversation without any witnesses. “Because once they find out that you went through all the trouble putting up with that sparkling for a noble cause your reputation will be restored if not increased.”

Smokescreen frowned, crossing his servos over his chest. “What the frag are you talking about?”

“You know that the council is desperate for Shockwave’s knowledge and with the only cortical physic patch that we have out of order we need to resort to other ways of getting all of his projects. And I can’t force him to give it all up, you’re as familiar with his personality as I am, so you understand why. But if he gets wind that we are helping a fellow con he might start trusting me. And with his trust and my persuasion I can get what we need.”

Smokescreen nodded, rage replaced by thoughtfulness. “But what am I to do with that thing? There’s no way I’m raising it as my own and I do not want it around my slave.”

Ratchet forced a smirk to appear on his faceplates. “Well there’s a way out of that as well, I’m sure that Bulkhead would be more than happy to buy that sparkling. The drones might be good for many things, but he is desperate for heavy lifters that know a few things about architecture like Breakdown does. All you have to do is deal with the sparkling until it’s just old enough and then sell it. Bulkhead will be willing to pay for the sparkling and a compensation, trust me. So in short: you put up with the child and in return you get both money and reputation, so what do you say?”

Ratchet knew he won the argument before the rookie even thought of a reply. Finally, Smokescreen grinned leaning forward over the desk and belt out a servo for a shake, a gesture they all picked up from their time on Earth. “You got yourself a deal.” 

The old medic grinned and accepted the servo shake. “You can pick Knock Out up after your meeting as I assume that you’re not about to leave him all alone at the suite just yet.” 

Smokescreen nodded gratefully and left with a satisfied spring in his step that made Ratchet’s tanks roil with disgust.

As soon as the door slid shut behind the rookie, Ratchet let out a sigh of relief before walking over to the doors and entering the medbay. 

Knock Out still hadn’t budged from his spot, but he did look up at the sound of Ratchet’s entrance and immediately tensed, hostility and fear filling his field as the old medic approached. “You’re here to terminate him, aren’t you?” Ratchet felt his spark clench at the quiet pain in his decepticon counterpart’s voice. 

“No, I’m not.” At that Knock Out looked up, astonished, lubricant building up in his dim red optics. “What?...”

Ratchet sat down on the edge of the berth, careful not to crowd the broken mech. “I convinced Smokescreen to let it live.” The hostility in Knock Out’s E.M field rose. 

“There’s gotta be a catch, there’s now way in the pit that Smokescreen just agreed to that out of the goodness of his spark and there’s no way you convinced him for the same reason. You both want something so what is it?!” He spat, shifting to sit as far as possible from the old medic.

Ratchet couldn’t blame the mech, but that didn’t mean some small part of him wasn’t irritated. “Knock Out, I’m going to tell you something that I told Shockwave: I don’t agree with the council. I don’t like what it’s doing to you and the other decepticon’s. The punishment you got was not an honorable one, pit an execution would be more honorable than this! What we did was disgusting. And by doing what we did we proved that we completely disregarded the cause we originally fought for.”

Knock Out sneered, mistrust flashing in his optics. “And that’s supposed to make all this okay? You still didn’t explain what you and Smokescreen are getting out of letting mine and Breakdown’s child live.”

Ratchet turned to lock his gaze with the red mech’s, trying to show Knock Out that he was being completely honest. “I won’t lie, I’m not getting anything out of this, but Smokescreen is. What he is going to get is reputation and later money when he sells your sparkling to Bulkhead.”

“WHAT?!” Knock Out screeched, sitting up straight, optics blazing with uncontrolled fury. 

“Knock Out, please calm down. It was the only way to convince Smokescreen to let the sparkling live and I haven’t even told you the whole deal yet.”

“I don’t care! Because just mere kliks ago here you were, trying to convince me that you were there to help and now... now you’re telling me that my little mechling will be sold off to someone who’s no better than Smokescreen.” Tears welled up in Knock Out’s optics and quickly slid down his faceplates as her let out a small sob.

“That’s the thing, Knock Out. The sparkling can’t grow up and get to know you, but it can achieve those things with it’s sire.”

Knock Out hiccuped, looking up at Ratchet through blurry vision. “What in Primus’s name are you talking about?”

Ratchet reached out, placing one servo lightly on Knock Out’s shoulder plate, trying to make it as non invasive as possible and ready to take it off if the red mech showed discomfort. “Bulkhead is Breakdown’s owner and he sure as pit is not going to care for your child, which means that he will be left to be raised by his sire and the drones. And one day, he will be freed.”

Knock Out looked up at Ratchet, fresh tears building up in his optics, but this time, they were grateful tears. “Thank you”

Ratchet let a small smile grace his faceplates. “You’re welcome, now let’s get you fixed up.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was an unpleasant screeching noise as silver claws dug furiously into the chain, but Megatron paid no heed. He wouldn’t be chained like some cyber dog, he had more dignity than that even given his current predicament.

He resisted the urge to yell, to crush and destroy everything around him in his rage. Normally, he’d let it all out, if he were on the Nemesis, but seeing as he was in enemy clutches, he was not about to give his enemies the satisfaction. 

No words were exchanged between him and Optimus during the trip here, nor after that. The Prime acted as if he didn’t exist, as if he was just another piece of furniture and though it hurt Megatron’s pride greatly, he knew that he could use this. Being ignored and mostly left to his own doings gave him the chance to think things through, develop some plan of escape.

Some part of him still couldn’t believe that the autobots could do this, that Optimus could do this. They were supposed to be soft sparked fools, but as their victory finally caught up to them, they changed. 

All that pent up pain and anger of losing friends, family and even their own planet spilt forth as soon as the dust cleared. Megatron could understand the other bots, but the Prime? That was a shock.

Eventually he gave up on trying to tear the chain and sat down with an enraged vent. He was too weak and malnourished to accomplish much in his current state. The most he could do was think things through.

The memories of the scene on the podium brought a fresh bout of rage he barely suppressed, he couldn’t stop his servos from curling into fists.

Many sparkbonds were broken during the war. But that was the time of war and this was supposed to be a time of peace. What the did was barbaric, inhuman, monstrous. Losing a mate during battle was honorable, knowing that your other half gave their life for their bonded and the cause they believed in.. But this? Knowing that your mate was going to be dragged off by another to be used as a personal toy?! Even with though the former warlord was undoubtedly cruel, he would never do such a thing. 

Giving up on keeping his composure, he struck the wall with an angered cry. His rage and the first stirrings of despair only grew at the sight of a small dent his fist left behind. He was too weak to even leave a decent mark.

Narrowing his optics to angry slits, he approached the window to look out. The chain connected to his collar, made it cumbersome and difficult, but he managed.

Tall, shining skyscrapers of rebuilt Iacon met his gaze, but the former warlord ignored the beauty of the scene before him. Behind that shiny exterior lay a darkness that only the higher ups and their captives were aware of.

He wondered of the other decepticons, his soldiers. He may have been a strict and, in most cases, a cruel leader, but he knew he held some responsibility for them. 

Starscream won’t hold out for long, that he knew for sure. He was a seeker, seekers weren’t meant to be restrained for long periods of time, they were free spirits. And if you bring Ultra Magnus into consideration...

Megatron shook his helm almost violently and turned away from the window, instead leaning on against the windowsill, a scowl darkening his features. Since when did he care for emotional condition of that cowardly excuse for a cybertronian?

The sound of of the door opening followed by already familiar heavy pedesteps brought the former warlord out of his internal musings and he turned to face the mech entering the room.

Optimus Prime ignored the scorching glare directed at him in favor of approaching an energon dispenser, pouring himself a cube of energon which he promptly downed without sparing a glance at the silver mech on the other side of the room. 

Megatron’s engine growled against his will as the sight of the cube reminded him of his hunger and he cursed his momentary weakness. 

He shrank away with a warning snarl when the larger mech approached, but when a cube was dropped unceremoniously in front of him, he didn’t bother to hide his surprised expression. By the time he looked up at his captor, the Prime had already moved away, now standing by the desk and looking through the documents there.

Megatron looked back at the cube. It was barely half full, it wouldn’t be able to satiate his hunger completely and it was obvious that that was intentional. It was obvious that they wanted to keep him in the weakened state he was and this would be the most he’d be getting from there on out.

The chains around his wrists would make it difficult if not impossible to grasp the cube, not that the former warlord would try anyway. Despite everything he still had his pride and he was not throwing that away.

So he made no move to refuel, instead opting to watch the red and blue mech through narrowed optics. 

When he’d been brought here he’d expected abuse. He’d expected that Optimus wouldn’t miss the chance to beat him up as soon as the door closed or just take him like all of his fellow decepticons were no doubt being taken by their respective ‘masters’. Megatron wasn’t delusional though. It would happen to him as well eventually when the council starts demanding for an heir. 

Optimus may be treating him like furniture now, but that act would soon be dropped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breakdown held back a groan as he lifted the heavy beam, joints creaking in protest from the strain. 

His frame had certainly seen better days. Old and new dents littered every inch of his armor along with scratches that were all ranging in their length and depth. The eyepatch that had been welded over his missing optic had been torn away forcefully, thus tearing the lines and causing them to spark with electricity as well as leak small amounts of energon. A deep gash marred the corner of his lip plate from the punch he’d received back on the podium. 

Bulkhead certainly hadn’t wasted time to get the anger and hatred towards him out of his systems.

The day after the so-called ‘ceremony’, Breakdown had been put to work despite his physical condition. Bulkhead didn’t care that he was malnourished and injured, on the contrary, he enjoyed seeing his former nemesis suffer under his command. 

Well, when he would eventually collapse from the strain Bulkhead would have no choice but to get him the help he needs.

With these bitter thoughts running through his processor, Breakdown looked through the plans and layouts of the site that he’d been given upon entry. Megatron would find a way, He was sure of it. He and Soundwave. They wouldn’t accept this situation, they would find a way to fight it, to free all of them and make the Autobots pay for what they’d done.

The most the blue bruiser could do was lay low and wait for the higher ups to come up with a plan of escape. Breakdown down would get Knock Out back.

The thought of his mate made his spark clench as he though of all the horrible things that could be happening to the red speedster. 

His servos clenched as the memory of Smokescreen’s lecherous grin flashed before his optics and he resisted lashing out at the wall in his despair. Breakdown remembered the way Knock Out tried to resist, how he’d looked towards him, cried out for help.. 

And Breakdown had failed him.

A sob disguised as a wheeze escaped his lip plates of it’s own accord. He leaned heavily against the wall, palm pressed flat against the cold metal. 

For the first time in his life, Breakdown had failed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the long wait! I’ve been really busy for the past few months and couldn’t find the time to update. Sadly that actually reflected on this chapter: it’s shorter and I’m not really satisfied with it, so I might go back and rewrite it completely at some point. I haven’t abandoned this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! School is truly terrible sometimes. Enjoy the chapter!!

There was a loud, unpleasant screeching sound of metal against metal as dark claws tinged with gold dug into the wall, just barely bathed in a dim magenta colored light. A lithe, black armored figure slumped against the wall, ornate helm coming to rest against it. Airachnid pulled her knees close to her chestplate, despite the searing pain the action caused her, the curled up position successfully pressing her even closer to the only source of stability she had.

Her vents hitched as her chest tightened, the now familiar swell of the heavy passing of emotions welling up yet again, but she forced it all down almost furiously as her claws sank even deeper into the cold metal. No, she was not going to cry, she was not going to waste anything on that femme! She was Airachnid, one of the most sadistic and feared Decepticons out there, a stranger to such pathletic things like feelings!

But despite what she kept telling herself over and over in her head, her optics stung, lubricant building up of its own accord, forcing her to angrily attempt to wipe it away, only succeeding in making her hiss in pain as the deep gashes left by Arcee’s servo made themselves known again. When she’d been first brought in, she’d laughed. There was nothing those soft sparked Autobots could do to break her. Airachnid was no stranger to pain, in fact, she relished it, took pleasure from it. But this? This was a different kind of pain she hadn’t been familiar with and now wished she’d never experienced. Being violated had opened her optics.

Her frame cringed as light pedesteps passed her door, stopping for a few astroseconds before resuming again as the owner of them walked away. The room Airachnid had been placed in was completely bare, the only source of light a lone window that was too far up for the black femme to reach. Usually it wouldn’t have been a problem, but the bladed legs she would normally use had been cut off immediately after her capture. Oh, how she mourned that fact now, longing to feel the soft brush of fresh air against her protoform and to see something other than the cold gray walls surrounding her. 

The femme hadn’t known she was claustrophobic until she’d been imprisoned in the small room. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t come as a surprise. She’d spent most of her time on that mud ball planet in caves and the underground in general and had never been bothered by it before. Perhaps it was because she knew that no matter what, she always had a way out.

Her fuel tank made itself known as several warnings, all in blaring red, flashed before her optics. Arcee, damn her, was very good at keeping her starved, but alive. 

The door hissed softly as it smoothly slid to the side, the bright light illuminated the huddled frame, letting in a blue armored femme. Speak of the devil.. 

Arcee’s optics were cold as she looked down at the trembling prisoner, lip plates pulled into a disgusted sneer as she dropped a quarter filled cube at Airachnid’s feet. Airachnid, in turn, didn’t look up, unable to meet the cold blue gaze directed at her, subconsciously pressing herself even more against the wall in an affront to make herself invisible.

A harsh kick sent her flying to the floor, wringing a small cry from her throat, despite her best attempts to remain silent. A blue servo curled around her neck, slamming her against the wall, pressing the pathetic remains of her spidery limbs painfully into the cold unforgiving metal.

“ I thought my actions were quite clear.” Arcee hissed as she pressed close to her archenemy, making sure to apply as much pressure as possible on Airachnid’s most recent injuries. “When I’m generous enough to bring you food, you eat like the animal you are, instantly and without complaint. Do I make myself clear, or do you need another lesson?” Her other servo trailed lower, scraping against the seam of her chest plates and coming to rest over her interface panel, digits digging in in a threatening manner.

Airachnid shook her head quickly, now almost frantically struggling against the femme’s hold. No.. Not again! Arcee pressed closer, dissatisfied by the silent response, her faceplate almost in the black femme’s now. “Speak up slave!” The blue Autobot snarled, slamming her even harder against the wall.

“Yes.. yes I understand.. stop... please” The last word was barely a whisper, but it seemed to satisfy the angered femme since immediately after uttering it, Airachnid was released. Collapsing to the floor, the black femme gasped for air, a servo coming up to weakly caress her abused throat. Airachnid never thought that she would ever have to beg. In fact, if anyone told her that she’d be reduced to such a degrading act, she would’ve laughed in their faces, and later would skewer them for even implying such a degrading act. 

“Good” Arcee allowed a small smirk to appear on her faceplate as she spun on her heel, mildly disappointed she couldn’t watch the show for much longer as she had other things to tend to. Oh well, she would have to come by later. 

Airachnid let out a vent, she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as the door closed behind her captor, once again submerging her into darkness. Her optics glanced at the cube, but instead of drinking, she turned away, optics sliding shut as her frame began to shake. She was no longer capable of holding back her emotions.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Knock Out looked up as Ratchet entered the room, a full cube of medical grade Energon clasped in the older mech’s servo. The grim look on the Autobot’s faceplate confirmed his suspicions and he whimper, hiding his faceplate in his knees, as he curled up even tighter in an effort to give himself some comfort.

Sighing heavily, Ratchet sat down next to the distraught mech, gently placing a servo on a trembling shoulder, despite the flinch he received. After Smokescreen left, Ratchet had set about repairing the red speedster, though he could only do so much without raising suspicion. Buffing and polishing Knock Out’s armor to return it’s former shine would’ve undoubtedly brought some comfort to the red mech, but unfortunately he could not do that without Smokescreen’s permission. Which left the smaller medic with several patches of silver here and there, a stark contrast against the usually cherry red armor.

Unless Smokescreen asked for a new paint job for his slave, the patches would be a physical reminder of what Knock Out had gone through. 

No words were exchanged as the older medic silently passed the youngster the cube, guiding the shaking servo to the red bot’s mouth when Knock Out’s digits curled a little too weakly around the offered fuel.

“He’s here for me, isn’t he?” Came the hoarse whisper after the Decepticon finished the cube, Ratchet taking it from him and placing it on the closest counter. Looking back, blue optics softened as they met the dim red irises directed at him and the older medic’s spark clenched at the sight. Never in a million years would he have thought that he would ever see a decepticon so.. broken.

“Yes, he is.” He replied softly, his E.M field brushing against Knock Out’s in a comforting manner as the youngster began to tremble, pale blue lubricant building up in those dim optics and quickly dripping down his face.

“I don’t want to go.” Knock Out whispered, beginning to shake harder, plates almost rattling against each other. His knees pressed tighter against the chestplates protecting his unborn sparkling. “I don’t want to go..”

“I know..” Ratchet spoke softly as he pulled the small ‘con into a gentle embrace, spark breaking as the red medic began to sob into his shoulder, no longer able to hold all the pain, fear and hopelessness back. He hated that he couldn’t help, couldn’t keep the small mech away from his tormentor for even a day. Seeing the once proud mech so shattered brought a strong sense of anger he could just barely reign in. The last thing Knock Out needed was to feel his fury. He had saved Shockwave, but he couldn’t save the others. Not yet anyway.

Eventually the sobs faded away, leaving Knock Out trembling and exhausted. Reluctantly, Ratchet stood up, helping the ‘con up and leading him to the door, saddened by how the small speedster didn’t even have the energy or the will to resist.

Smokescreen was waiting for them in the hallway, optics brightening at the sight of his slave. Ratchet’s tanks churned in disgust. With a nod at the rookie, he released the red bot’s shoulder and could only watch as the youngest member of Team Prime attached a chain to the collar around Knock Out’s slender neck.

He could only watch as Smokescreen dragged the ‘con away, the red boy shooting one last desperate glance in Ratchet’s direction before both of them disappeared around a corner. 

Ratchet’s arms fell from their crossed position, servos curling into fists of their own accord. He’d find a way to save them all.. He had to.


	7. Chapter 7

Bumblebee vented softly as he opened the door to his suite, making sure that his pedesteps were loud enough to be heard from the other room when he entered. The first few times he’d come in in his usual silent stride of a trained scout, he’d startled his unwilling captive, in one instance even causing a mild panic attack. Whatever they’d done to Soundwave back in Iacon prison, it must’ve been terrible if it rendered his current state.

Absentmindedly wiping his pedes on a mat in a fashion he’d picked up on Earth, the scout cautiously entered the living room. 

The living room was probably the largest room in the whole suite and an apparent favorite of Soundwave’s. Though the ‘con was not a seeker, he preferred large and spacious areas as they probably vaguely reminded him of the Nemesis’s bridge where he usually remained during the war. But although Soundwave liked it, Bumblebee, on the contrary, hated it. 

The grandness of the room with it’s elaborate decorations and expensive furniture disgusted him as he was reminded of the first time he’d been presented with it. A ‘small reward for the savior of Cybertron’ they called it. Pah! The very thought made him want to purge.

Bumblebee didn’t deserve this. He didn’t help win the war for this. He fought for the freedom of all, he fought against all the oppression and injustice the council represented, against the violent, murderous ideals of decepticons. And for what? Only to return to the exact same system he’d been fighting against.

Optimus and the others’s betrayal still hurt. And it hurt even more when he realized that some part of him understood their actions. Bulkhead and Wheeljack has lost many friends at the servos of their current slaves, be torturing Breakdown and Dreadwing, they were avenging the deaths of so many Wreckers. Arcee was much the same, avenging the death of her partner. Ultra Magnus followed Optimus and Optimus...

Throughout the entire war Optimus held himself back in an effort to not lose his original objective like Megatron had. But despite his best efforts, he did. After witnessing all the death and destruction his former friend had wrought on countless worlds, he must’ve lost all hope of ever redeeming the warlord. The Prime was far from emotionless and eventually the resentment built up until it spiraled out of control and he no longer saw a better way to make Megatron repent for his sins.

Bumblebee could only speculate why he and Ratchet hadn’t resorted to such horrendous acts themselves. They had all lost dear friends to the war, Bumblebee even lost his voice for Primus’s sake and yet.. Shaking his helm, the scout turned around the corner and walked into the small kitchen area and came to an abrupt halt.

Soundwave stood behind the counter, nimble digits placing energon goodies on an ornate metal plate in an elaborate design with extreme precision. His brilliant, violet were focused on the task and he didn’t even twitch as the yellow bot slowly approached him.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Bumblebee reset his vocalizer and the former spy reacted immediately, posture straightening as if he were asked to stand at attention. Bumblebee mentally sighed at the behavior. He’d tried talking to the captive before, explaining that he only wanted to help the captive in any way possible without expecting anything in return, but Soundwave seemed to be firmly convinced of a catch.

“What are you doing, Soundwave?” The scout asked curiously as he looked down at the plate. Silence met his words and he looked up at the taller mech’s face. To anyone else, Soundwave’s faceplate would seem emotionless, as if the visor were still concealing his feelings, even though it had been destroyed, to others, but to Bumblebee, who spent several deca-cycles in his presence, the emotions were quite clear. The way those violet eyes narrowed just slightly, the way his lip plates became a thin line and the way Soundwave’s frame stilled told the scout that he was severely unimpressed. Basically it was Soundwave’s equivalent of a ‘Are you serious?’ look.

Feeling slightly sheepish, Bumblebee shrugged, shoulder pauldrons rattling slightly at the action. “You didn’t have to do this, Soundwave. I-I mean, it’s really nice of you and all a-and I appreciate it, b-but I told you that I didn’t expect anything from you..” Soundwave’s lack of reply and continued staring made the yellow bot even more nervous that he’d said something wrong. 

Letting a heavy vent, Bumblebee’s doorwings drooped as he finally stopped his nervous stammering and when he looked up, he could of sworn he’d seen the former spy’s optics glint in amusement. That didn’t make him feel any better. 

Giving up, Bumblebee say down on one of the high stools near the counter and picked up an energon treat from the ornate plate. Their close proximity with only the counter separating them was not lost on him and didn’t help his embarrassment at all. With a single look at the ‘con’s impassive faceplate, he took the treat into his intake.

It was.. surprisingly better than he’d expected. The taste was sweet, but not overbearingly so and it contained his favorite flavor as well. How had Soundwave known? 

Soundwave must’ve read the shock and pleasure on his faceplate, for his frame immediately set into a pleased stance, though his faceplate remained stoic. This time it was Bumblebee who had to hide his amusement at the silent pride practically radiating from the silent ‘con.

“I didn’t know you could cook, Soundwave. This is really good. Thank you.” Bumblebee spoke, giving the taller bot a smile. There was a tiny rise and fall of Soundwave’s shoulder plates that the scout recognized as a barely noticeable shrug. 

Still smiling, Bumblebee reached into his subspace and deposited a small disk on the counter. At Soundwave’s curious look, he nodded and pushed the object even closer in a silent request for the ‘con to pick it up. 

Thin digits tentatively reached out and curled around the disk to pick it up, clicking on a button in the process subsequently making it project a hologram of a long list interrupted by certain schematics in some places. 

Bumblebee couldn’t withhold a grin as Soundwave’s optics widened when the ‘con realized what he was looking at. “You previous vizor is broken beyond repair and I know you miss it, so I arranged a meeting with Ratchet today. This is a list of things he has to know before he can start working on a new one. It won’t be as advanced as the old one, but...”

A thin servo in the air stopped his continued rambling and he looked up as Soundwave slowly lowered the now turned off disk to place it back on the counter. Something passed over the silver faceplate, something tender, something happy, there and gone in an instant as the ‘con silently regarded the yellow bot sitting before him.

In his entire lifetime Soundwave could not recall when he’d ever been treated by such kindness. Not as a protoform, not as the most respected officer under Megatron’s command. He hadn’t expected the Autobot to act this way towards him. During the first few days he spent in the scout’s suite he’d been certain of a catch, some kind of test. When he’d been given a separate room, he ignored the berth and recharged on the floor, expecting the yellow bot to come during the night to see if he had dared to sleep in the berth without permission. Needless to say, the Autobot surprised him.

There were only two words that he could express himself with. His vocalized clicked online, his voice containing a slight rasp from misuse. “Thank you.”

Bumblebee merely grinned up at him, doorwings perking up in what could only be genuine happiness. “Don’t mention it.”

Many miles away, in the outskirts of Iacon city, Ratchet smiled softly as he received the comm from his younger teammate. It lightened his spark to know that he could still bring some joy into the lives of these tortured souls and the feeling only increased as he watched Shockwave move around the lab, looking more invigorated than he had in cycles, limp completely gone and his single optic bright as he worked on his latest project.

Ratchet thought it best to focus the ‘con’s brilliant processor on such things as medicine that can be used for helping other Cybertronians. Together they started working, the old medic spending all of his patient-free time with the purple ‘con, Shockwave eagerly reciting all the reactions, tests and results he’d acquired every time Ratchet was forced to miss out on due to his job.

To his great surprise, the old medic found that he rather enjoyed Shockwave’s company. The memory of his capture back during the war seemed distant and more like a bad dream. 

As he listened to Shockwave’s talking, a small smile appeared on his faceplate and he leaned against the wall, already putting in a few of his own suggestions and pointing out a few things that could be modified in the overall schematic.

Yes, there was still some joy in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that this fic needed a little break from the non-ending angst, so I put some fluff and cheerfulness into this chapter. 
> 
> I haven’t had the chance to check it yet, so if there are any mistakes, notify me.


	8. Chapter 8

Ratchet watched the gathered mechs, a sneer threatening to appear on his silver faceplates. Beside him, Shockwave shifted, just slightly, armor flexing in barely noticeable alarm at the amount of hatred and disgust in the old medic’s E.M field. Sensing the ‘con’s unease, Ratchet sent him an apologetic look before pulling his field close around his frame and directing the slave through the crowd, ignoring the disdainful glances sent the purple mech’s way.

When Ratchet had been informed of the ‘celebration’ the new council would be holding in honor of the day the decepticons were finally defeated he’d held back irritation. But when he was told that he’d been invited and was expected to show up with Shockwave, he could barely contain his fury. Fraggers wanted the decepticons to be there. ‘Celebration’, his aft. More like gloating. 

He spotted the other captive ‘con’s in the farthest corner of the room, huddled together, desperate for the small comfort their close proximity brought. Without much thought he weaved through the crowd towards them, Shockwave in tow.

As he neared them, Ratchet’s spark fell at the pathetic sight displayed before him. All the decepticons were looking worse for wear and that was putting it lightly. 

Megatron leaned heavily against the wall, servos crossed slightly too tightly over his chest plates, red optics staring into nothingness. He didn’t even twitch as the old medic approached, as if he didn’t notice or was just too exhausted to care.

Starscream glared at him as he neared, his sharp claws flexing in their restraints, wings hiking up in a threatening manner, only to press against his back as he shut his optics in pain, hissing throughly tightly clenched dentae. Ratchet frowned at the cuffs still locking the seeker’s wings, concern washing through him. Seeker wings were extremely delicate and being locked up in one position could be very painful not to mention dangerous. They could stiffen in that position temporarily if not permanently. He filed away a reminder to talk to Ultra Magnus. He doubted that the large bot kept the cuffs on out of malicious intent, more out of protocol.

Dreadwing gave him a small nod, red optics flashing with anger, before quickly looking away as if afraid that Ratchet would punish him for the blatant show of hostility. Ratchet’s jaw clenched at the large dents and scratches littering the navy blue armor. Wheeljack didn’t even bother to make the slave presentable. He obviously took pride from it and didn’t mind showing how a ‘con should ‘properly’ be treated.

Airachnid hissed at him as he neared, sharp fangs flashing in the dim light, the stumps that were once her spider like limbs rising as her plating flared in fury. Ratchet winced at the sharp lashes of her field against his. Unlike Dreadwing, she wanted Ratchet to see her hate, purple optics promising a painful death. Not to be outdone, Ratchet pulsed a silent warning through his own field and she recoiled instantly, top lip curling over her dentae. The pang of guilt the action caused him was snuffed almost instantly, Airachnid’s crimes still fresh in his processor. Though he believed that even she didn’t deserve this treatment, some things could not be forgotten or forgiven.

Ratchet’s spark broke at the sight of the two mechs huddled in the shadows. Only now did he notice the protective half circle the other ‘con’s had formed around their two companions, shielding them from sight.

Knock Out was leaning heavily against his bondmate, literally clinging to him for dear life, thin digits curling into the seams of Breakdown’s armor. His optics were shut, lubricant trickling down his faceplate as his frame shook uncontrollably, hard enough to make his shoulder pauldrons rattle against each other.

Breakdown had his arms wrapped securely around the small mech, pressing his distressed mate against his large chest. His whole frame seemed to press in and curl around the red medic protectively, his every touch reassuring, loving as he whispered soft comfort into white audials, large servo caressing the smooth silver plating of Knock Out’s abdomen and the red plating of his chest plate where a small sparkling grew.

A single, dim yellow optic glanced at Ratchet before returning back to the shaking mech. Breakdown didn’t seem to mind his presence and suddenly Ratchet understood just how close the ‘con’s truly were. Though they showed anger and hostility they let him pass, let him see the two bonded mechs because they knew what he was doing for them, knew and were grateful to him for helping one of their own. 

A soft, inquisitive brush of an E.M field drew his attention to the tall, silent mech who had suddenly appeared beside him. Though Soundwave’s face remained impassive, his field pulsed gratitude as he silent passed the small disk he’d given Bumblebee into his servos.

Ratchet let a small smile appear on his faceplate as he accepted the object, storing it into his subspace. “You’re welcome.” 

Soundwave nodded, before turning on his heel and walking over to join Megatron who looked up when he sensed the spy’s presence. The fact that they were all allowed to gather together spoke volumes of the way the council saw them. If they were allowed to stand together instead of being kept apart, it was obvious that they were no longer seen as a threat. Just another way to make the ‘cons feel even more humiliated than they already were.

He left Shockwave with them, sensing that the scientist would like to be left with his brethren before heading off to search for Ultra Magnus. Starscream’s wings needed to be released before they got to the point of severe damage.

A flash of yellow armor caught his attention as Bumblebee joined him, doorwings held tense against his back. “You’ve seen them right?” He spoke lowly, glancing in the direction of the small group. At Ratchet’s nod, the scout sighed, doorwings drooping even lower. “This isn’t right, Ratchet. It just isn’t. They’re already humiliated every single day. Wasn’t that enough for the council?”

“Apparently not.” The old medic stated grimly, optics searching the crowd. He’d seen Smokescreen pass by, laughing merrily at something an attractive lime green femme was telling him. Arcee was conversing with Wheeljack and Bulkhead by the energon dispenser, a cube of high grade clasped firmly in her servos.

Ratchet glanced back in the direction of the huddled decepticons. They were in the same position as the one he’d left them in with the exception that Soundwave and Shockwave were now on either side of the silver warlord.

He found Ultra Magnus by the fountain in the center of the grand room. 

The blue bot was reluctant at first, going on and on about protocol and ethics, but Ratchet had dealt with enough slag over the years to win the argument easily. Starscream’s wings would be released that evening as soon as he was back at the suite. Satisfied, Ratchet rejoined Bumblebee by the wall, silently accepting the high grade for appearance’s sake. There was no way in pit that he was going to drink to this supposed ‘victory’.

He watched silently as Optimus stepped out onto the small elevated balcony, blue and red plating gleaming in the soft light. Ratchet’s spark fell at the completely foreign look in Optimus’s optics. He looked away, unable to look at his former friend any longer. He tuned out the speech that followed, the cheering, optics focused on the huddled frames in the corner.

This was not what he fought for.

As soon as it was over, he didn’t stick around, he couldn’t bear to spend another click in the presence of these monsters. 

Shockwave did not fight him, though there was some reluctance in his movements as he left the group. Ratchet stood back and allowed him to say goodbye in his odd Decepticon fashion before gently guiding him away. Out of the corner of his optic, he noticed how Bumblebee walked over to the group as well, probably as disgusted and eager to leave as he.

The medic could feel Shockwave watching him, the both questioning and understanding brush of his controlled field, but he did not answer the purple ‘con’s silent question. He’d do that as soon as they were far away from this place.

The rest of Team Prime watched him go, but didn’t think much of it. Ratchet had made it very clear that he had been very busy these past few megacycles, he probably had an emergency to tend to. So they let him go, instead focusing on the party around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think of the decepticons as a sort of dysfunctional family, I don’t know why.


	9. Chapter 9

The decepticons watched in silence as their lead scientist left with the Autobot medic. Soon after their departure, the yellow scout came by, obviously with the same intent in mind, but was called over before he could do so. So, he left, but not without sending an apologetic glance in Soundwave’s direction and discreetly shoving a small hardened energon cube into the thin digits. As soon as the young mech was gone, Starscream unleashed his disdain.

“Eating out of an Autobot’s servos, are we? How disgraceful.” He sneered, red optics flashing dangerously in the dim light. 

Soundwave did not respond, digits carefully curling around the small scrap of fuel to conceal it from sight. The spy doubted that the Autobots would like it if they saw him holding it. The lack of reply only seemed to aggravate the agitated seeker even more, as his claws flexed in a desperate attempt to claw at the restraints holding them together.

“And you’re not the only one.” The seeker’s tone was scathing as he glared in the direction the medic and Shockwave had vanished into. “Our lead scientist, following an Autobot like a loyal pet. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Starscream.” Megatron spoke up for the first time that evening, a silent warning present in his tone. The seeker fell silent instantly, turning to glare at the pristine floor beneath his pedes. 

“Shockwave believes that the medic may prove to be an ally.” Dreadwing rumbled with a small wince, restraining himself from massaging his dented neck. 

“Do you really believe that?” The smaller seeker spat, anger overruling his fear of Megatron’s wrath. “He’s playing us, trying to get under our plating then only to throw our trust back in our faces! He’s no different than the others, neither is the scout!”

Soundwave’s optics narrowed, the only sign of disagreement he could muster before glancing at the cube in his servos. Dreadwing seemed undeterred, squaring his shoulders before meeting the former SIC head on. “Even if he is trying to deceive us, two can play the game. He can prove useful to us.”

“Prove useful, how? Look at them.“ The smaller seeker sneered, nodding toward the crowd. “They obviously do not expect us to be able to escape, given the fact that they do not care about us possibly scheming if we are allowed to stand together.”

“We mustn’t lose hope!” The navy blue seeker growled, using his superior height to intimidate the smaller bot. Starscream hissed, wings hiking up despite the pain it caused him as he matched Dreadwing’s glare. There was a series of clicks and suddenly Airachnid was standing beside them, the stumps of her extra legs waving almost lazily behind her.

“Boys, boys no fighting.” She purred, voice falsely sweet and violet optics flashing dangerously. “No fighting, I think Lord Megatron has something to say.”

“And What has his Lordship thought of now?” Starscream sneered turning on the black femme who didn’t even flinch, but instead sent him an almost bored look. 

Megatron turned to Soundwave, servos still crossed over his chest plate and his blood red optics boring into the crowd with open hatred. “Soundwave, what do you know of the whereabouts of the Nemesis?” 

The spy remained silent for a few astro seconds, clearly reluctant to speak without the use of his mask, before finally speaking up with a soft rasp. “The Nemesis: located in Central District. Current function: trophy of war.” 

“How unsurprising.” Starscream sneered, but Megatron ignored him, all his attention fixed on the usually silent spy master. “Does it function?” At Soundwave’s nod, he continued. “What of the state of security?”

Soundwave looked up at his master, field pulsing with slight confusion at the questions he was being asked. “Security level: High.” 

“So, they still fear that we might commandeer the ship.” The warlord mused, leaning back against the wall. “Would be a shame to play right into their servos, we’ll have to be careful. Soundwave, find out everything you can about the ship, but exert extreme caution, the scout may be gullible, but he is far from stupid.” The spy nodded, watching as his Lord turned back to the crowd surrounding them.

“What are you thinking of, Lord Megatron?” Dreadwing asked, curiosity and rising hope easily distinguishable in his field, before he pulled it close around him in fear that the Autobots would catch on that something was happening.

Starscream looked up, slow understanding visible on his faceplates. “You’re thinking of escaping, aren’t you?” Megatron nodded. 

“But what of Knock Out?” The four of them looked back to see Breakdown straighten up, servo curled protectively around his shaking mate. “He’s already halfway through, it won’t be long before he gives birth, we won’t be able to formulate a plan before then.”

Megatron nodded slowly, gaze thoughtful. “Then we will have to leave after the sparkling is born, however we will have to be quick. Smokescreen has already tried breeding him and as soon as Knock Out’s physically able, he’ll try again. Not to mention the attempts that will be forced upon ourselves.”

Airachnid crossed her servos over her chest plate. “Are you saying that the Autobots might try to spark us as well?” Her armor flexed in disgust and revulsion.

“Not all of us, but I’m afraid that most of us will. I will most likely be the first to be subjugated to such an attempt.” Megatron growled. Dreadwing’s servos clenched At his sides.

“But what will they gain from it? I doubt that any of them want a family so badly.”

“The ultimate victory.” Megatron snarled, claws digging into his palms furiously as he clenched his servos. “The final humiliation of their enemy. It’s a blatant show of what can happen if you oppose them.”

The gathered decepticons shared a look, all of them looking disgusted beyond belief. 

“I-I will not be treated like someone’s prized breeding mare!” Starscream shrieked, the loud music thankfully drowning out his voice so the gathered Autobots did not hear him. 

“I’m afraid we don’t have a choice in the matter, Starscream!” Megatron snarled, his patience with the seeker running thin. “That is why our best course of action is to plan out an escape as soon as possible, so that we can regroup and make them pay!”

He instantly quieted however when a small, almost unnoticeable whimper reaches his audials, glancing back at the distressed medic. Breakdown was immediately alert, pressing his mate even closer and whispering soft comfort Knock Out’s audios as he sent the warlord a mild glare that lost most of it’s heat.

Megatron sighed and reached out, placing a servo on Knock Out’s shoulder, feeling the red bot stiffen under his touch. He was not the best at comfort, but he tried anyway for the sake of his soldiers. “We will make him pay for what he’s done to you, Knock Out.” The silver mech snarled. “I’ll tear his spark out myself and savor the sight of his frame turning to dust.”

“No.” Knock Out’s voice was quiet, but steady as he looked up at his leader, dim red optics meeting Megatron’s. “I’ll do it.”

“Knock Out-“ Breakdown started, optic ridges furrowed on concern, but was cut off by his bonded. “No, Breakdown. He hurt me, but most importantly he threatened our sparkling. I won’t- I can’t let anyone else do it. It has to be me.” 

Breakdown frowned in clear disapproval, opening his mouth to protest, but Megatron silenced him with a brush against his field, feeling relieved at the sight of steely determination in the medic’s optics. He nodded. “Very well.”

As the evening went on, they planned their escape, each of them sharing whatever they knew. Anything could be useful.

Eventually, Bumblebee returned, Soundwave willingly following him away while mentally reciting every task he’d been given by Megatron. 

Next was Arcee. Just to spite her, Airachnid refused to even acknowledge the blue femme as the latter tried tugging her away. A small fight broke out which ended with the black femme being pinned to the floor with the two wheeler’s pede on her neck to the loud jeering of the crowd.

Smokescreen was right on Arcee’s heels, visibly overcharged, and dragged Knock Out away with promises that made Breakdown lunge at him only to be stopped by the shock collar still present over his neck cables.

Megatron watched his soldiers being dragged away one by one, red optics narrowed and rage pooling in his spark. When Optimus came by, the two of them shared a glance, blood red optics filled with murderous fury boring into cold blue ones.

They stood like that for a few seconds in silence, before finally leaving the gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s probably too soon, but I had some free time on my hands and could finally sit down and write. If there are any grammatical errors, feel free to notify me.
> 
> And we finally see the decepticons scheming! Great.


	10. Chapter 10

Blurr raced through the streets, zooming past mecha and ignoring the startled shrieks and curses flung at his retreating back. There was a sizable stack of data pads grasped firmly in his servos, but it was diminishing rather quickly as he dropped one after the other at the appointed doorsteps. 

It was degrading for a mech who used to be the best spy in the Autobot army to be reduced to a mere messenger, but that and running his own bar were his jobs now. Speaking of which.. It was opening hours. His task done, he zoomed through the streets in the direction of the outskirts. 

Blurr hated the new system, if you could even call it that way. The war had taught them nothing, instead of leading Cybertron to the next Golden age, they returned to square one. Except this time it was even worse. 

The racer had seen the Decepticon slaves and even the memories of the sight made his tanks roil uncomfortably. The decepticons deserved punishment, deserved justice, but this... this was slavery and he could not understand why any Cybertronian who fought for the Autobot cause would willingly agree to it.

Blurr understood the anger and hate they all felt towards the enemy faction, Primus knows he felt the same animosity, but this was just wrong. It went against everything they fought for in the first place. 

But even if there were people who disagreed, they were being quiet, probably fearing that they would be arrested or even worse: subjected to the same fate. Cowards. His lip twitched over his dentae, threatening to turn into a scowl. Fragging Cowards.

As soon as the small building came into view, he skidded to a halt, bringing up a small shower of dust as he did so. 

The pub he entered was small, slightly dingy, unattractive in every sense of the word. At least on the outside. Indoors, the sight was far more pleasing. Clean, polished tables and booths littered the area, all evenly spaced out to prevent accidental collision. The lighting was dim in a pleasant way, giving the room a cozy ambiance. The bar was just as shiny and polished as everything else in the place.

Blurr could no longer stand living in the center, being surrounded by idiotic, ignorant mechs and propaganda. He purposefully moved to the outskirts, kept his place as unnoticeable as possible. Even if job options and income were very poor here, it was better than working for monsters.

A lone mech sat hunched over the bar, waiting for him. Blurr recognized the form immediately. Ratchet. The famous medic, member of Team Prime and the one running the small clinic just a few blocks away.

At first he’d been wary. One of the best medics of Cybertron and the one who participated in winning the war running a clinic, assisting the poor, more often than not taking no payment for his services and, most surprising of all, treating his deception slave decently. Sure, he scolded and insulted him whenever they were in public to give the appearance of abuse, but Blurr could see right through that guise. He did not miss the sadness that flashed through those blue optics whenever Ratchet was forced to utter an insult, he did not miss how the medic’s E.M field brushed apologetically against the ‘Con’s or the way Shockwave did not cringe away like the other slaves whenever his master approached.

So, when one day Ratchet stumbled into his bar, in a desperate need to be overcharged, Blurr welcomed him. A friendship formed. Which led them to where they were now. 

“Tough-night?” The racer asked with easy familiarity, already reaching for Ratchet’s preferred high grade, he looked like he needed it. Ratchet only grunted in reply, rubbing at his templeplates with one servo. The exhaustion in both the frame and E.M field was practically palpable.

Blurr knew Ratchet well enough to discern the ‘I’ve spent the whole slagging night in the operating room’ and ‘I’ve just spoken to a former teammate’ moods. He did not press the medic, instead simply passing him a cube. Ratchet would tell him when he felt like getting it off his chest plate. Several kliks passed. There was a new cube in Ratchet’s servos when the medic finally spoke up, voice gruff and layered with exhaustion. Blurr could hear the underlying tones of suppressed anger shining through, attentiveness was a common trait amongst former spies.

“Optimus wants me to run a system check on all of the captive decepticons. Apparently the council is ready for the final step.” Ratchet said, servos grasping the cube until it crackeled, threatening to shatter. Blurr hastily removed it from the medic’s grasp before it did. The last thing he needed was to deal with another difficult stain. 

“They-want-to-breed-them-then?” At Ratchet’s nod, Blurr grimaced, disgust pooling in his tank. Of course, he’d heard rumors, but he’d hoped that they wouldn’t actually have the nerve to do it. “What-are-you-going-to-do?” Blurr almost added “About Shockwave”, but stopped himself at the last second. Despite that, Ratchet understood what he’d really wanted to ask.

“I don’t know.” The medic let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward on his stool so his elbow joints were placed firmly on the bar stand. “I cannot forge documents to present Shockwave as infertile, I, unlike my former teammates, will uphold the oaths, including the oath I’d given when I became a medic. Besides, even if I did, the council is suspicious of me already, they’d most likely hand Shockwave over to other specialists.”

Blurr said nothing, his blue optics grim. What could he say or do? The council wouldn’t give the time of day to a mere former spy, despite all of his contributions to the Autobot cause. Ratchet, meanwhile, continued.

“I had tried to appeal to them that Shockwave was far more valuable as a source of intel rather than carriage, but they refused. Said that the punishment would be the same for every one. And that it was highly possible that Shockwave would let something slip due to the stress. Carrying mechs are known for being very emotional after all.” Ratchet barked out a humorless laugh. His E.M field pulsed with anger and desperation as he turned to face the blue racer. 

“I can’t force myself upon him-I won’t. I will not fall as far as the rest of them.” Blurr reached out, placing a gentle servo on the shaking mech’s shoulder plate in a silent sign of compassion, lipplates pressed into a thin line. There were no words to be said. Quietly, he pushed another cube into the medic’s servos.

Ratchet returned to the clinic later that day. A part of him was thankful that today was completely void of any appointments, he needed to speak to Shockwave, needed to explain this situation, to tell him that he did not want to do this, that it went against every fiber of his being. Maybe he even hoped that the scientist would think of a loophole he’d missed, though deep down he knew he hadn’t. 

He found Shockwave in the labs fiddling with one of the diagnostic machines. Ratchet hadn’t been able to get all the state of the art machinery needed for the clinic, the council had been against his project, insisting on him remaining in the Central Iacon hospital, so he was forced to updating the outdated machinery as he saw fit. Recently, Shockwave had set about doing the same. The medic had a sneaking suspicion that the decepticon was trying to outdo him. Despite the circumstances, their scientific rivalry remained.

Shockwave looked up as he approached and Ratchet knew instantly that the ‘Con had heard the news. Many if not all called Shockwave emotionless, there were even debates whether or not the ‘Con had simply deleted all emotions to better serve his master, but the medic knew that that wasn’t true. 

The ‘Con held himself straight, as he usually did, but Ratchet could see the tenseness in his frame, the faint tremors that passed through him ever so often. The lone optic was brighter than usual as it focused on him and the medic could tell that it was fixed intently on his every movement. Despite his vast intellect, Shockwave was just as capable of feeling something as any other mech, though he usually masked it, but now what he was feeling was projecting clearly, as if the scientist was too consumed to control it. 

Shockwave was afraid.

“So, you’ve heard.” Ratchet said, voice soft. His optics filled with sadness when he took a step forward only for the ‘Con to hastily take a step back, intent on keeping some semblance of distance between them. So, he remained where he was, explaining everything without reaching out to touch the distressed slave, lest he upset Shockwave even more.

The purple mech shook his helm, field pressing in tightly around his frame when Ratchet’s reached out to brush gently against it. “It is illogical for you to go against your own faction. I cannot understand why you would even stage an attempt to do so.” 

The old medic let out a heavy sigh. Of course, he’d expected this. Suspicion. He’d tried to build a sense of trust with the decepticon scientist, but with the current news that trust was easily forgotten. 

“I no longer ally myself to them.” He said at last, looking up to meet the single red optic. “With what they are doing, they broke the oath they’d given when they became Autobots. They are no longer my comrades.” Ratchet took a slow step forward, relief flooding through him when Shockwave did not back away. Slowly, making sure to maintain optic contact, he placed a servo on the purple shoulder plate, his touch gentle and light, allowing the ‘Con to pull away if he wanted to. “I will not hurt you, Shockwave.”

And from the look in the decepticon’s optic, he knew that the scientist believed him.

In the center of Iacon a red mech stood in front of the wall sized windows, a servo shielding the slightly distended abdominal plates. The golden light of the setting sun illuminated the attractive form, giving him a sort of ethereal look, though the mech himself could not care less.

Knock Out was scared. For himself, for his mate, for his fellow decepticons, but most of all: for the little life growing within him. 

His legs shook from the effort of keeping himself upright and he turned, settling on the uncomfortable simple stool while ignoring the comfortable looking rocking chair. Smokescreen has been very clear that he was not to use it until he was heavy with his sparkling, rather than Breakdown’s. In the rookie’s mind, Breakdown’s child was not worthy of any comfort. 

The pain was instantaneous as he sat down, shooting up his spinal strut and he had to clench his dentae so as not to cry out. The sparkling needed transfluid to help it’s protoform to build, but Smokescreen had not been gentle during his ‘contribution’. Knock Out withheld a sob, curling his arm over his midsection even more firmly. The sparkling pulsed against his spark, sensing his carrier’s distress and the medic hummed softly to calm him down, wrapping his field around himself and the youngling soothingly.

Knock Out was not a religious mech, but, in the current situation, found himself praying that they would all make it out of here, that Megatron’s plan would work and little Wildbreak would be born into a happy world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! To show Blurr’s speed during speech I added ‘-‘ since I’m not fond of writing without spaces due to the difficulty it presents when reading. Thanks for all of your wonderful comments and kudos!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I’d like to thank everyone for your wonderful comments and kudos. Enjoy the chapter!

Ratchet sighed as he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the plain gray ceiling overhead. The examinations of each decepticon had been scheduled and sent to him that morning. He’d taken the time to examine the list, chuckling bitterly when he noticed just how spaced out each meeting would be, ensuring that there would be no chance of any of the slaves crossing paths. Figures that they’d want them to feel even more vulnerable than they already were.

However there was another thing that caught his attention. After his examination, each decepticon would be shipped to the Iacon Central Hospital to be double-checked by the medics there. The Council no longer trusted him, they were starting to see through his act. Cursing, he stood from his chair and began to pace, shoulder plates stiff.

He had to hide Shockwave, he’d known that for a while. Stage it to make it seem like an escape, escort the slave into the basement rooms that nobody, save for Ratchet himself, knew about and report to the authorities. But now? Knowing how little trust the council had in him? 

A silver servo slammed into the wall, the force of the collision making the data pads on the nearby shelves rattle against each other. Ratchet closed his optics and cycled deeply, leaning against his outstretched arm for support. He kept telling himself that he would never do something like that to any living being, no matter how wicked or cruel, but he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t considered it. It would be so easy to just let go, fall victim to the hurt, anger, pain and grief still existing deep within his spark. How many innocent lives had the decepticons taken? How many families had been broken apart by Megatron’s tyranny? How many friends lost? Wouldn’t it be right to give them a taste of their own medicine?

No, Ratchet reminded himself. No. Taking someone against their will was one if not the most despicable, disgusting, horrific thing you could ever do to another being. The decepticons killed and tortured, but they never crossed that invisible line, never stripped someone of any dignity they had left like that. They did not deserve this.

Pushing off the wall, he began to pace again, the rising sun enveloping his form in a soft, golden light, making his armor glint and his optics shutter instinctively against the almost blinding sunlight. Could he perhaps still be able to stage Shockwave’s ‘escape’? But where would he take the scientist, for it would be too risky to keep him in the clinic now?

Coming to a sudden halt, he turned to the window, faceplates scrunched up in concentration. Could perhaps Blurr be able to help? His pub had underground rooms that could only be accessed by a trapdoor hidden within the building and as far as he knew, no one was aware of his friendship with the blue racer. But could he really threaten Blurr’s life like this? And was Blurr trustworthy enough? He’d been a spy during the war, but was he a spy now?

But Ratchet knew he had no choice, there was no other way. And what of Soundwave? Bumblebee had been equally distressed by the news as the slaves. The youngster had almost purged at the very idea.

Both slaves would have to be transferred at the same time. In fact, it would be even more believable if he were to say that he’d been overpowered by two decepticons acting out in desperation. The trackers in their collars will be easy to switch off, Ratchet and Shockwave were renowned scientists after all, they’d long since figured out each function of the ‘disciplinary device’ strapped around the ‘con’s neck. 

But, to make it even more believable, Ratchet would have to be wounded, preferably critically, that way, the Council would have it’s doubts about labeling him as a traitor and however much Ratchet detested the idea of being put in the care of the medics that were in the Council’s pocket, he had no choice. He just hoped to Primus that they were not in the possession of a Cortical Psychic Patch, the one that had been on the Nemesis had been broken beyond repair by him. He could try projecting false memories, but he highly doubted it would work.

His mind made up, he left the room determinedly, transforming as soon as he was out of the clinic and heading for Blurr’s pub. It would still be too early for customers, so he hoped that he would be able to talk to the racer without any eavesdroppers. 

Blurr listened to him quietly, leaning against the bar, his servos crossed tightly over his chest plate to the point of denting. There was a long pause after Ratchet finished and the medic was beginning to fear the worst, when the racer sighed, letting his arms fall from their tense hold and gesturing for the old mech to follow him as he headed into the very back of the pub.

The bartender said nothing as he led his companion to a tiny storage unit, roughly shoving aside a metallic crate and uncovering the trapdoor underneath. The lid was heavy and required both of them to move it, but they managed. Ratchet eyed the gaping hole warily, seeing nothing but darkness beyond the entrance. Blurr, however, jumped in without second thought, obviously this wasn’t his first trip to the hidden basement. Resigning himself to his fate, Ratchet cautiously descended after the blue racer, being extra careful where he placed his pedes.

The room he found himself standing in was dank and pitch black, forcing him to switch on his headlights. Blurr was waiting for him on the other side of the basement and as he approached, Ratchet took the liberty of assessing his surroundings.

The area was large, spacious enough to fit a whole crowd of mecha and he could see the darker areas that were most likely doorways. The ceiling was low, high enough to not be a problem for a mech like Ratchet, but definitely low enough to hinder a warframe who were well known for their large frames. The room was empty, save for a few empty crates scattered about and a rusty table with a broken energon dispenser in the far corner.

“Well?Does-this-suit-your-needs?” Blurr asked, tone clipped, making Ratchet wince. He couldn’t blame the mech for being upset. What he was asking was basically betrayal and an endangerment of Blurr’s life.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Blurr. I understand that what I’m asking is putting your business and your very life at risk and I will not blame you for saying no. But I implore you: help me do the right thing. Help me prove that the Autobot cause still lives and that justice will be served.” Cautiously, the medic reached out, placing a gentle servo on a blue shoulder plate. Blurr sighed, optics downcast before suddenly he straightened, servos clenching into fists and his E.M field flaring with determination. He looked up, fierce blue optics meeting equally determined ones and nodded.

“I-will.”

The first scheduled meeting happened a few solar cycles later and unsurprisingly it was Megatron who was to be the first to be examined. Ratchet tried not show his discomfort as he gestured curtly for the mech to sit. 

The warlord was mostly compliant, probably all too familiar with the effects of the collar strapped around his neck by now. He did what Ratchet asked, glaring throughout the whole process. If looks could kill, the medic was certain that he’d be a graying husk sprawled over the floor. When he asked Megatron to open his chest plate so he could take a look at his spark, the silver mech did so readily, as if some part of him was hoping that Ratchet would make a wrong move that would preferably cause his death. The medic opted not to focus much on that image.

The real struggle happened when he required Megatron to open his interface hatch. If his reflexes were any slower, his abdomen would certainly be sorting deep gashes.

Red optics flared in rage and the silver mech sat up in berth, all too ready to sink his claws into the old medic, but his attack was intercepted by the guard that had been assigned by the council to ensure that the decepticons were compliant during the procedure. Despite Ratchet’s vocal protest, the mech was none to gentle with the slave, slamming the silver helm viciously against the berth and flipping the silver frame, so he could curl one of Megatron’s arms painfully behind his back.

Megatron struggled weakly against the strong grip, too malnourished to put up a proper fight, to no avail. Ratchet never thought he’d ever hear the proud warlord cry out in pain and the sound disturbed him deeply. The medic made sure to make quick work of the examination, keeping his touch light and gentle. There was no need for Megatron to feel even more vulnerable than he already was. As the warlord was led roughly away, he could’ve sworn that he’d seen a flash of gratitude in those crimson optics.

The next was Starscream. The seeker was a lot more vocal than his leader had been. Ratchet paid no mind to the insults thrown his way, focusing more on making the procedure as quick and non evasive as possible, given the circumstances. However, unlike Megatron, Starscream was far less compliant and Ratchet could not stop the guard from punishing the lithe mech, watching in silent despair as the seeker was electrocuted and beaten into submission. Starscream left with a prominent limp in his stride.

Knock Out’s visit was quick. Obviously his examinations were of a completely different kind. The sparkling was developing normally, but Ratchet was greatly disturbed by the medic’s physical state. A carrying mech required to drink enriched energon that was full of the needed nutrients for the sparkling. By all accounts, Knock Out’s protoform should’ve been flush with them, showing his carrying status, but the red mech was thin, much too thin to be considered normal. And he suffered from severe pains in his spinal strut. The medic was appalled when he learned how the racer was forced to sleep and sit on hard surfaces. He wrote a long message to Smokescreen about carrier care, making sure to put special emphasis on the value of the sparkling. Hopefully, the reminder of the money he would receive would make Smokescreen more lenient towards the slave. Knock Out left leaning heavily, albeit highly reluctantly, against the guard escorting him.

Airachnid’s examination was pure chaos. Despite lacking he bladed limbs, she was still very, very quick and dangerous. Her natural acid supply also didn’t help. She ignored Ratchet’s attempts at reason, more focused on tearing his faceplate to shreds. The guard, a large, stocky femme with dull golden armor, was on her in an instant, setting off the collar until Airachnid was howling in agony from the electricity flowing through her frame before cuffing her to the berth. The medic did his work in silence after that, narrowly avoiding the acid that was spat in his direction when he neared the femme’s chest.

And then... It was Soundwave’s turn.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a long chapter! Also, there’s Some gore in this chapter, nothing graphic though.

He only just managed to keep himself upright as the sharp jab almost caused him to keel over in pain. Soundwave glared up at the guard standing over him, the visor once again absent from his face. Bumblebee had regretfully removed it just before he was to be led away, telling him that he would return it as soon as possible in hushed tones. Soundwave understood why. The council forbade them from providing the slaves any sort of comfort beyond the necessary. Despite the several deca-cycles he’d spent without it he still felt naked at that moment. The guard seemed unperturbed, jabbing him again with the barrel of the blaster to get him going. Reluctantly, the spy complied.

Soundwave didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to put up with the invasive tests of the Autobot medics. True, one of them seemed to be sympathetic to their situation, but the memory of Soundwave electrocuting him and taking him prisoner was still fresh in both of their processors. But invasive tests aside, the real thing he was truly dreading was what would no doubt follow after that. The spy knew that Bumblebee wouldn’t hurt him, not willingly anyway. Would he be forced to interface with the scout? The idea made his tanks churn almost painfully.

The streets were crowded, as to be expected in the middle of the day. But at that moment all Soundwave wished for was for them to be empty. The crowd parted as they walked, clearing up a wide lane. The spy felt their stares on his plating, heard the scathing and mocking remarks sent his way and begged Primus to just let him disappear, to let the metal beneath his pedes swallow him whole so he would not have to bear it. 

Something wet landed against his arm and he shrank away from the ice cold liquid seeping into his joints. Someone had thrown energon at him! Purple optics blazed in fury and he spun around, scanning the multitude of mechs for the perpetrator. Almost immediately the guard reacted, swiping Soundwave’s pedes from underneath him while he was distracted and pining the furious slave to the ground, twisting his right arm painfully behind his back while immobilizing the other with his knee. The spy knew several ways of how to get out of the hold even without the help of his cables, which had long since been placed under specially designed locks. But, however much Bumblebee was sympathetic to him, the scout could not find a way to provide Soundwave the nourishment he needed and even though he was not exactly starving, he was still no match for the strong and healthy mech above him. Out of spite, he considered biting, but decided against it. Although the pained cry he would no doubt illicit from his attacker would be music to his audials, the spy would not stoop so low. The decepticons were already viewed as animals, he did not want to prove them right.

He was roughly hauled to his feet, the crowd jeering in delight until the sharp bark of the assigned guard sent them scurrying away. For that, Soundwave was grateful. They continued to walk in silence, the large mech holding the slave’s now cuffed servos threateningly. Not that Soundwave cared. All he wanted was to get the the tests over with.

The spy could not exactly tell when he had started feeling safe around the scout, when the glimpses of that yellow armor and large blue optics became comforting. He knew he was being foolish. Bumblebee was a means to an end, probably the ‘Con’s only ticket of getting out of here. And he was an Autobot. Soundwave knew he should be hating him, gloating on the inside every time the young mech slipped a sliver of useful information, so why was tricking Bumblebee suddenly so painful? Why did he feel, dare he say it, guilt?

He shook his helm, facing forward again, his faceplate unreadable. Whatever it was that made him feel this way, he would figure it out later. Lord Megatron was counting on him and the spy would be damned if he let his master down. The grip on his plating tightened as he was steered to the left and into a narrow alley. As Soundwave looked around, he noticed with some surprise that the buildings were becoming much poorer and rundown as they walked. They were entering the poor districts, but why? Didn’t Ratchet work in the Central Clinic? That was where the spy expected him to work, after all, Ratchet was a member of Team Prime and one of the most gifted surgeons, so why were they here?

They finally came to a stop in front of a small, unattractive building. Soundwave eyes it warily, growing increasingly more confused by the minute. The door creaked lowly as it reluctantly slid aside to grant them entry, causing the ‘Con to cringe slightly from the noise. Being a spy, he had more sensitive audials than the average mecha. Seeing his momentary hesitance, the guard grasped him roughly above the elbow to drag him inside. Soundwave opted not to resist, he would need the energy later on, there was no point in wasting it now.

Ratchet met them at the entrance, curtly telling the guard that he could take it from here and huffing an irritated vent when the large mech promptly replied that his orders required him to keep the slave in his sights at all times. The medic didn’t argue, turning away and leading them down the dark yet clean and modernized hallway. Soundwave supposed that Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to further fight on his behalf, but however much he tried, he couldn’t blame him. The old medic may pity them enough to offer some assistance, but he will not compromise his life for them.

Ratchet opened a door at the very end of the hall and walked through it without looking back to check whether they were following or not. Soundwave received another sharp jab into his already aching backstrut and was forced to hurry his pace despite his reluctance. He didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to be examined, didn’t want the medic’s digits anywhere near him. But he did not have a choice. Tough slag. Optics flashing a deep amethyst color, he raised his chin, setting his frame into a posture of proud defiance. He vowed that at the very least they would never rob him of his dignity.

What he did not expect was to be grabbed by silver digits upon taking a single step into the room. A servo pressed over his intake to muffle any noise of surprise that could possibly escape him, though Soundwave later thought that that was quite unnecessary. He was forced against the wall, pinned firmly against the smooth surface by the smaller, but infinitely stronger frame of the autobot medic.

The guard’s startled shout was cut short as a familiar purple cannon collided with his helm, knocking him offline instantly. A single shot followed shortly after that and when Soundwave looked down all he could see was the gray corpse of the large mech that had been very much alive just a few astroseconds ago. Shockwave heaved a vent as he leaned against the doorframe, the attack taking more out of him than he expected. Suddenly the spy was released and he stumbled slightly before finally regaining his balance, turning to stare at the two mechs in poorly concealed shock. What in the Pit was going on?

Ratchet seemed to sense his confusion, for he spoke up, voice clipped. “This is an escape, Soundwave. You and Shockwave are getting out today, this instant.” The medic hurried to the nearby drawers, hastily rummaging through them until finally he fished out a small remote. Soundwave felt the thick band around his throat loosen before detaching suddenly with a soft hiss. Bewildered, he stared down at the black collar now laying at his pedes, digits shakily coming up to trace his freed neck. He had no time to recover from shock as Ratchet pushed an emergency intercom urgently into his servos. 

“You will exit through the back door and head to Blurr’s pub, Shockwave knows the way.” Ratchet spoke quickly and to the point. Silently, the old medic thanked Primus that the clinic was closed for public whenever one of the slaves were over for their tests. “You will go ahead and contact this comm,” he said as he quickly typed it into the intercom. “Shockwave will be right behind you. You will be met at the pub by a small blue racer, his name is Blurr as you’ve probably already guessed, if it’s anyone else however, hide.” 

Soundwave opened his intake, about ready to question the mech’s motives (not to mention sanity), but was rudely shoved out of the room before he could. “Go, Soundwave.” It was not Ratchet’s voice that sounded this time, it was Shockwave’s. The scientist had pulled himself upright while the medic had been hastily explaining the plan to the shocked spy. Contrary to Ratchet, Shockwave was as calm and composed as ever, fixing Soundwave with that familiar unyielding stare. Without a single word, Soundwave spun around and ran.

Now left alone with the old medic, Shockwave turned to his autobot counterpart, regarding him silently. “I assume it would be better to knock you offline first?” He asked as he turned to fully address the red and white mech.

Ratchet let out a grim chuckle, leaning back against the counter with his servos crossed tightly over his chest plate. Shockwave could see his digits denting the pristine white arm plates. Silently, he approached the medic, stepping over the gray husk of the guard as he did so. Ratchet flinched as he got closer, knowing what was about to come and desperately telling himself that it was necessary. Shockwave lifted his cannon, ready to strike, but his arm felt heavy, uncooperative. Red optic met turquoise ones and suddenly Shockwave saw fear in those bright pools of light. In that very moment, the scientist realized that Ratchet was just as afraid as he was, just as desperate for this plan to work for all of their sakes. His cannon shook where it was positioned above the medic’s helm. He couldn’t hit him, couldn’t hurt him, but why? 

Shockwave has never been one to be sentimental, it was illogical after all, so what was this feeling in his spark, this strange reluctance to hurt an autobot? Even if he was helping them escape, he was still the enemy. If anything, Shockwave ought to take the chance to finish him off. One less autobot to deal with. So why didn’t he? Why couldn’t he force himself to do so? 

“Do it.” Ratchet’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, his helm bowed to stare at the floor beneath him, concealing his expression in a shadow. Despite his obvious distress, his voice didn’t waver. “Do it, slag it.” And Shockwave did. The medic’s frame crumpled and the scientist caught it before it could hit the floor. With unusual gentleness he did not expect from himself the ‘Con settled Ratchet on the floor, crouching down beside him.

He knew he should run, that there was no time to be wasted, but he could not move just yet. His servo moved before he even realized it, beginning to trace the sharp contours of Ratchet’s faceplate. Shockwave drew away almost instantly, recoiling as if he’d been slapped. Slowly, he rose to his pedes, looking down at the still frame on the floor. His cannon rose, taking aim carefully at the medic’s abdomen. He had to be precise, had to make it seem like a hasty shot that though wounded the medic, but missed the vital organs. As he readied to shoot, the memories of the past few cycles in Ratchet’s presence flashed before his optics. During the time he’d spent here, working with him, talking to him, refueling with him and just plain enjoying his very presence, Shockwave realized that he’d been content, for the first time in many, many years, he’d truly been happy.

He almost didn’t hear the shot, all he could focus on was the energon pooling underneath that familiar frame. Shockwave forcefully tore his gaze away, spinning on his heel and dashing away in the same direction Soundwave had just minutes ago, leaving the bleeding medic behind. Though Shockwave would never admit it, he hoped that the authorities would arrive in time to save him. 

Swiftly, he turned the corner, speeding up when he caught sight of the waiting Soundwave. Together, they sped through the streets, the evening shadows soon concealing them from sight.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellp, have an angsty chapter. The next one will be fluffy, I promise..

Megatron paced up and down the room, his heavy pedesteps making the floor shake and the few picture frames on the wall rattle with the force. Soundwave and Shockwave were missing. They were gone and the warlord didn’t know what to believe, whether they escaped on their own volition or if they were put down by the council and their executions covered up. Judging by how things were now, he wouldn’t put it past the autobots to do the latter. Of course, there was also the fact that the medic, Ratchet, had been injured, quite seriously in fact, in what was said to be a struggle before the two slaves escaped, but could he believe that? Or was it just a lie? Slag it, he was becoming as paranoid as Starscream.

Heaving a deep vent, he came to stand before the window, dim red optics watching the bustling city below. Megatron knew he would be violated. If not today, then soon. The ultimate punishment, the council’s final show of power to everyone who opposed them. He wasn’t ignorant to the true nature of the tests that had been run on all of them. The people of Iacon were becoming restless, he’d even heard of several protests against decepticon slavery. Granted, some, if not most, demanded their execution as punishment for their sins, but at this point he would prefer death to what he was currently being subjected to. 

So focused was he on his own internal musings that he almost missed the soft hiss of an opening door. Megatron didn’t bother turning around, he already knew who it was. When several minutes passed in silence, he tilted his helm, just enough to look over his no longer spiked shoulder. Optimus was watching him, mouthplate pressed into a thin line and optics grim. Megatron’s own widened slightly at the implications, before dropping to the floor in silent dejection. His frame tensed when the larger mech approached, but he did not fight when a black servo grasped his upper arm firmly and he was led to the berthroom. 

Knock Out watched as the familiar form of his former leader disappeared from view and let his gaze fall to the ground, a servo coming up to rub his aching neck from looking upwards for too long. Softly, he fiddled with the chain fastened around his neck, detesting the fact that he had to be dragged around on a leash like an Earth animal. As a carrying mech, he needed exercise and since Smokescreen was far too ‘busy’, a servant was tasked with taking the medic outside.

The red mech ignored the looks the passerby sent him. It was rare to see a decepticon slave out in the streets and a carrying decepticon at that. Sensing the growing hostility, Knock Out turned away, heading back to the complex Smokescreen lived in, the skittish servant sprinting after him, holding the leash in shaking servos. The medic knew he had to get out of here and preferably keep away from the dark corners of the city. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to jump a ‘Con like him. Tempers were running high and it would be best for his little one’s and his own well-beings if he were extra vigilant. Now that he was entering the last stages of carriage he was especially vulnerable and Smokescreen was not a bot you could rely on for protection. 

It was in moments like these that he especially missed Breakdown. For as long as they knew each other, the blue mech had always been there, a soothing and solid presence that Knock Out could always lean on, someone he could trust. And now, in his greatest moment of need, that presence was torn away from him, never to be felt again. A familiar weight settled over his chest and he vented heavily, willing away the emotions that threatened to overtake him. He was not going to cry, he was not going to show them his pain. 

But it became increasingly hard to hold himself back when all he could think about was his mate. His touch, his voice, the gentle brush of his E.M field before it enveloped him whole like a soothing blanket, the way the larger mech would simply listen to him, hanging on to every word and offering any advice or comfort he could give.. His servo pressed gently against his abdomen, seeking the weak brush of his child’s field against his, suddenly desperate to feel it, as if to reassure himself that he wasn’t alone.

It wouldn’t be long now, seeing as he had been sparked before the end of the war. Knock Out knew he should be excited, joyful, but could not bring himself to feel that way. If anything, he feared his sparkling’s inevitable birth, wanted to keep the little one with him for as long as possible. Because he knew what would happen once he was born. Sure, he would stay with his carrier for a few deca-cycles after birth, just until he could drink regular grade energon and more or less walk on his own two pedes. But then he would be taken away, forever, if Megatron’s plan didn’t work. And seeing as how things were getting bleaker and bleaker for the Decepticons he began to fear failure. Just the thought of spending his whole life as Smokescreen’s slave, his child and mate used as free labor for construction, made him want to purge.

The red medic kept his helm down as he entered the unfortunately familiar building, allowing his current ‘caretaker’ to take the lead and ignoring the jeering and occasional catcalls directed at him. Ironically, him being officially Smokescreen’s possession protected him from most attempts of assault. Now it wasn’t unheard of for a ‘Con slave to be found in some dingy alley way dead, tortured or raped. Most of the assailants were mechs who hadn’t fought in the war and felt like torturing what was left of the enemy forces would somehow prove that they had done something for the cause. And the council wasn’t doing anything to stop it. 

Fighting to keep the disgusted sneer off his faceplate, Knock Out entered the elevator which would take him to the rookie’s fancy suite. At this point he’d rather live in the slums than be forced to spend one moment more in the same living quarters as the Autobot. Thankfully, with him being so close to term, Smokescreen had given him a separate room that would temporarily serve as his and the child’s until the mechling could be sold off to Bulkhead. And though the room was completely devoid of anything but a plain berth and a few sheets, Knock Out had been confused by the sudden generosity. Up until he realized that the blue racer most likely didn’t want to be bothered by the sparkling. And though that kind of behavior was to be expected, Knock Out couldn’t help but be insulted on his child’s behalf. The rookie may think that he had stripped the ‘con of everything, but the medic still had pride.

Even so, the moment he was left alone in the empty apartment, Knock Out made a beeline for the empty room, slamming the door behind him, finding himself in a desperate need to be alone. He stood there, leaning against the closed door, chestplate heaving, before slowly sinking to his knees, his frame curling protectively around his abdomen. He could feel the lubricant building up, no longer held back by sheer will now that nobody was there to witness his anguish. 

As if sensing his darkening mood, there was a low rumble and heavy drops began coming down from the sky, sizzling softly when they made contact with the smooth metal of the building. Through bleary optics Knock Out looked up, watching the acid pour down outside the window. How long had it been since he’d last experienced acid rain? Hadn’t it been during their last days on Cybertron before they were forced to abandon their home? He could still remember that day as clearly as if it happened yesterday.

Knock Out remembered looking out the window just like he was doing now, except then he hadn’t been in an elite apartment. He had been standing in a small, dark room, looking out in the direction from which the gunfire and explosions were coming from as the battle never ceased even when the acid was pouring down furiously upon the ground. He remembered listening to the reports in horror, slowly coming to the realization that his home was dying. He remembered boarding the ships, Breakdown’s servo squeezing his shoulder in some attempt at comfort as they prepared to leave forever with no idea where they were going and what was going to become of them.

The rain didn’t stop for a long time as he reminisced, instead, it seemed to pour down even harder, causing the few mecha still outside to flee for cover. Knock Out stood and approached the window, looking out at the ground below, red optics dim. Was this his life now? Slave to a monster, robbed of everything including his family? His ideals, his plans - all gone? The lubricant glistened softly in the weak light as it trickled down a pale faceplate.

Somewhere a door hissed, announcing the arrival of the mech he hated and at the same time feared so much. Thankfully, Smokescreen did not seem to be in the mood to seek his company. Knock Out could only guess that seeing him carrying another mech’s child revolted the rookie to the point that he couldn’t even look at the slave, much less interface with him. And for that, Knock Out was grateful.

The almost furious pounding of the rain was gradually replaced by a soft pitter patter and the medic looked up, noticing the sunlight that was beginning to filter through the dark mass of clouds overhead. They’d find a way out, they had fought the Autobots for millennia and almost won. If anyone could get them out of this, Megatron could. The first thing they would probably do is find a safe planet to hide and regroup. Most likely that planet would be Earth with it’s more than sufficient energon deposits. But on the other hand, staying on Earth would be risky. That would be the first place the Autobots would look when they learned of their escape. Not to mention that if the Earth governments were informed, the United States government in particular as they had had the most contact with the Cybertronian race, they would have humans breathing down their necks. Knock Out knew Breakdown still got nightmares from his time spent in the hands of M.E.C.H. But, maybe, if they tried explaining, they would help? Oh, who was he kidding, of course they wouldn’t. The ‘Con’s hadn’t done anything to warrant their sympathy. And they would never believe that their precious ‘saviors’ would ever be capable of doing something like this. 

Knock Out hadn’t. When they’d imprisoned, they had all expected a quick execution or life imprisonment. But not this. They should’ve read the signs, even before they were captured the alarm bells should’ve gone off. The Autobots changed. They had become more violent, their interrogations began to include physical force and after they had the information they wanted the captured ‘Con would be killed immediately. It was as if they just.. snapped. As if they suddenly stopped pretending.

And then, the Autobots won and they were thrown into prison. Knock Out remembered trying to join them, for his and Breakdown’s sake, for their family, but it didn’t work, they were imprisoned anyway. And then... the torture came. His memories became blurry after that, but he remembered screaming.. and pain, a lot of it. His optics closed and he choked out a sob, turning away from the gray world outside.

He suddenly felt the urge to escape the barren room, the smooth gray walls towering over him, closing in. He could’ve sworn they held the same cracks and stains that his cell walls had. But the door wouldn’t open. Dimly, he could hear music and loud voices coming from beyond the wall and recognized the sounds as those belonging to a party. Smokescreen must’ve locked him in to keep him out of sight. Obviously he couldn’t let his ‘friends’ see his slave heavy with another’s sparkling. Knock Out would’ve sneered if he weren’t so distraught.

He just wanted to get out of here, he wanted his mate and his fellow decepticons. He wanted to be back on the Nemesis, listening to Starscream’s endless monologues, watching Megatron and Soundwave work on yet another plan against the Autobots. Slag, he wouldn’t mind working with Shockwave again and that said a lot. 

Knock Out just wanted to go home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided that this chapter needed more work. Still not quite satisfied with it. I apologize for the delay.

Soundwave flexed his digits, glancing around every few seconds restlessly, as if he were expecting to be attacked at any moment. But the basement remained dark and silent around him, not a hint of movement in the pitch black shadows. However, he knew better than anyone that the stillness could be deceiving. Maybe it was just paranoia, but there was no way Soundwave was dropping his guard. Not when he was surrounded by Autobots. Out of the corner of his optic he saw Shockwave shift, obviously just as uncomfortable as him. The ceiling was far too low for comfort and the two ‘Cons had to hunch slightly to avoid colliding with it.

The racer, Blurr, had met them right around the corner of the pub, like Ratchet said, and immediately ushered them through the back door. He had to admit, it was rather clever of the small bot to conceal the entrance with a stray sheet of metal and waste cans. If the spy hadn’t known (suspected really) that it was there, he would’ve walked right past it. Blurr’s face was grim as he led them through the building’s halls, his orders curt. Soundwave couldn’t blame him for his anger. Despite the autobot’s obvious disgust to their enemy’s current predicament, the wounds left from the war were still too deep, still too fresh.

He leaned forward, almost imperceptibly tapping his digits against his knee plating. What was he to do now? If he was going to fulfill Lord Megatron’s order he was going to need a monitor at the least. Hacking into the restored Elite Guard’s network without being caught would be easy for him, one of the best hackers on Cybertron and Megatron’s Chief Communications Officer. From there he could acquire all the information they needed: the Nemesis’s exact location, status and the amount of guards stationed around it. Trying to get into the ship’s systems would be impossible. Not only because he had to be in the general vicinity of it to try (if not inside), but also because he and Shockwave both had worked on the security. Though it pleased him to learn of the Autobot’s inability to get in, it also served to irk him as it lowered their already low chances of escape. From the files he could also gather as much of the info on his fellow ‘Cons as he possibly could. If he was to get them out, he had to know their statuses and locations as well. Lord Megatron and Knock Out were probably first priority. Megatron as their leader and Knock Out as a carrying mech very near birth and a medic as well. They were too valuable to the cause to be left in Autobot servos. There was also no guarantee that Bulkhead would hand over the sparkling over to his decepticon workers and there was no guarantee that he would buy the mechling in the first place. For all they knew, the wrecker could kill the child despite its innocence. Given the recent events, Soundwave couldn’t put his trust in the bots to follow their code anymore. 

Starscream was second priority. Though he was a coward, the mech was also a genius strategist and even if he was a ‘former’ second in command, he was too valuable an asset. That and he was a seeker and seekers were not known to do well indoors for too long. Lack of flight could drive them slowly insane. It was unfortunate, but it was true. Then they would get Dreadwing (who was also a seeker) and after - Airachnid. Breakdown and the drones would most likely be the easiest to free as the Autobots would be attacked from both sides: from the inside as well as outside. Even if they were underfueled, the drones were still a quite force to be reckoned with by their numbers alone and Breakdown was a former wrecker: strong and a good warrior. 

Soundwave shook his helm. He needed more information to work with before he could formulate a proper plan. There was a possibility that Megatron would have to be rescued last, when they had sufficient fighting power to get through the dense security that was no doubt placed around the former warlord. But, they also could get him out first, while they still had that element of surprise. There was just too little to go on right now and any mistake could lead to failure, they couldn’t afford to be reckless.

Beside him Shockwave stood, having grown tired of sitting in one place without doing anything productive, and began walking along the room, using his servo to orient himself along the wall, mapping out their surroundings and storing them to memory. Soundwave knew he should probably be doing the same, familiarizing himself with layout of the basement as well as searching for anything that could be salvaged and of use. But he could not bring himself to move, not yet. Truth be told, he was still slightly shaken from the earlier ordeal and he knew that Shockwave was as well. When the scientist was distressed, he found something to analyze and study. It was a fact that the Decepticon High Command were all too familiar with. Poor Knock Out had had to be the one to forcefully drag Shockwave away to recharge ever since the latter returned to the Nemesis. 

The last twenty four hours had been shocking. None of them had expected help. Sympathy, sure. Ratchet had shown some of it to them as well as pity. But actual aid? They were willing to go against their own faction for the Decepticons’s sakes? That was difficult to believe, even now. Their future had up till recent events been shrouded in darkness with no light, no hope for salvation. And yet... Here they were. Being saved by the same people they had tried to kill. But why? Why didn’t Ratchet, Bumblebee and Blurr turn against them like their friends? Why did they insist on saving them? Why? Why would they care?

Soundwave wracked his processor, but couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He just couldn’t understand what they were getting out of this. Perhaps as a Decepticon, a mech with a completely different mindset, he would never understand them.

Deciding that he couldn’t remain sitting much longer, he stood up and moved cautiously forward with his arm outstretched (the last thing he needed was to trip and topple over, he still had his pride slaggit!) until he felt smooth metal against his palm. He leaned against it, looking around wearily, the brightness of his optics illuminating the area around him in a dim purple light. Broken chairs, empty crates, rubbish - so far there was nothing of use. It was in moments like these that the spy truly lamented the loss of his old visor. Though he was grateful to the scout for getting him a replacement, it was truly a kind gesture and he appreciated it, nothing could replace the original. Losing it had been a shock and though he predicted it, he still hadn’t been prepared for it’s destruction. Soundwave had worn it for so many millennia that he began considering it as a part of himself and it’s loss left him feeling more vulnerable and defenseless than he cared to admit. He filed away a note to kill the autobot responsible as soon as he was free.

There was a dull thud from above, closely followed by loud pedesteps that echoed in the empty room. On instinct the spy ducked into the shadows, pressing his frame flat against the wall behind a few stacked crates. He watched the stairs closely, frame tense in preparation to attack if it turned out to be an enemy. But when the shadow of the bot fell upon the stairs, the spy realized that he couldn’t move. The pitch black darkness, the stiflingly enclosed space, the sound of approaching steps - all of it reminded him of his time in prison before the ‘Ceremony’. He could see those cold blue optics burning into him, filled with sadistic glee. Soundwave tried to raise his arms, readying himself for a battle, but he couldn’t. He looked down. Heavy shackles secured his servos, chaining them to the floor. The spy looked up and saw the guard’s face contort into a victorious grin as he watched the captured ‘Con struggle in his bonds. Soundwave cringed away, ducking his helm, readying himself for the heavy blows that would soon follow. His vocalizer clicked and he had to force down the pleading whine that threatened to escape his throat.

“-wave?” 

The ‘Con shook his helm, optics shut tight as he struggled weakly to lift an arm as some form of defense- 

“Soundwave.” Shockwave’s deep, resonating voice cut through the darkness that was slowly overcoming the spy, bringing him back from the painful memories. Soundwave opened his optics.

Shockwave stood in front of him, his servo a heavy yet comforting weight on his shoulder plating, his field enveloping his like a soothing blanket, pulsing silent comfort and understanding towards his distressed comrade. The small Autobot stood a few steps behind, giving the two of them space, nervousness, worry and sadness practically radiating off him. He was clutching two large energon cubes in his servos.

Soundwave felt shame ripple through him. He was Megatron’s Chief Communications Officer, the Third In Command of the Decepticon cause! And yet here he was, cowering in a corner like a frightened sparkling. His long digits curled into fists.

‘No!’ Shockwave’s field pulsed, pressing around him even more. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of.’ But Soundwave did. 

He brushed the scientist’s servo off, maybe a little too roughly than was strictly necessary, but Shockwave said nothing, wordlessly stepping back and giving him space. Blurr cleared his throat, obviously feeling uncomfortable at the scene he unwittingly caused and wordlessly offered the two ‘Cons the fuel. They accepted just as silently and began sipping it instantly, only now realizing just how hungry they truly were. Unsurprisingly, it was Blurr who first broke the awkward silence hanging between them.

“They picked up Ratchet,” he said after clearing his intake once again. “He’s currently being treated in the Iacon Central Clinic. They’re saying he’ll be fine.” Out of the corner of his optic, Soundwave noticed how Shockwave’s shoulders relaxed, as if a great weight had been taken off them. A curious reaction, he filed it away for later. “So far everything’s going to plan, they seem to have bought the story of your escape. Until we hear from Ratchet again you’ll unfortunately have to stay here. Also, Bumblebee has been questioned about your escape,” he looked at Soundwave, but then quickly diverted his gaze. “He denied having any knowledge of a plan to aid you and due to his standing they couldn’t do much. They have no reason to doubt his word as of yet.” ‘Unlike Ratchet’ went unsaid. “Ratchet predicted this and as soon as he can be sure that he isn’t being monitored, Bumblebee will make contact with us.”

“So for now we do nothing,” Soundwave thought to himself unhappily. Of course he knew that was the most reasonable option, but he was never one to be idle. There had to be something he could do in the meantime. 

As if reading his thoughts, Shockwave spoke up. “Is there anything you could spare? Monitors, data pads, anything that contains information that could be useful?” 

Blurr nodded.

“There’s an old monitor, but it’s in a state of disrepair. Won’t be much of a problem for you however, I imagine.” He looked vaguely bitter as he said this, but neither of them cared. They were grateful that he was even willing to give them anything at this point. Soundwave understood why the racer would be reluctant. Sheltering, feeding and offering information to the enemy faction to help them in their escape felt like betrayal of his own cause, despite the obvious corruption in the Council. They were just taking revenge, right? Making sure that the proverbial bad guys received what they deserved? But in doing so their cause died, everything they fought for: their ideals, their plans to build a just society - it was all gone. And Blurr was forced to watch on helplessly as it happened. Some anger and bitterness was to be expected.

Soundwave tuned out the two mechs’s following conversation, instead turning his attention back to the exploration of the room. There had to be something that could be of use while they waited. He ignored the mildly concerned brush of Shockwave’s field against his, pulsing slight irritation through his own. The last thing he needed right now was pity. He had been a gladiator once, he was strong, both physically and emotionally. He could be objective even in the worst of times. Soundwave wasn’t going to let the Autobots win.

**************************************

Breakdown sighed as he sank down to a sitting position, the metal slab serving as his current berth creaking in protest at his still considerable weight. He was dead exhausted. Iacon was still being rebuilt from the ground and the captured ‘Cons were instantly put to work. But with the recent issued out order concerning the Decepticon High Command, Breakdown supposed he should be grateful for that. Bulkhead turned out to be quite the sadist, enjoying watching his nemesis wither away from endless work and starvation. But Breakdown could handle that. He just hoped it would protect him long enough for them to escape. He knew that his fellow ‘Cons save for ‘Waves hadn’t been so lucky and he had to be fit to fight to protect his comrades, they would need all the fighting power they could get if their escape was to be a success.

His thoughts once again drifted to Knock Out. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about his mate. How was he? Was he being fed, taken care of? He had to be close to giving birth by now. Would Smokescreen uphold his promise and let the sparkling live? At this point he couldn’t trust any one of the Autobots to keep their word. He still couldn’t believe what was happening in fact. They had all believed that the Autobots were weak and soft sparked and for millennia the enemy faction didn’t give them any reasons to believe otherwise. But after their victory it was like they just let go and showed their true colors.

Breakdown knew he wouldn’t have done to Bulkhead what the latter did to him. Sure, he might’ve beaten him half to death, taunted him about his loss and of what would happen to his precious human pet. He would’ve made sure he suffered, but not for too long. Bulkhead would’ve received a dignified death, a death an enemy that Breakdown actually respected deserved. They would’ve never used the Autobots as slaves, pleasure slaves at that. The Decepticons had first risen from oppression, they knew better than anyone else what it was like and would’ve never wished a similar fate on anyone. And now here they were, in the same position as before the war, only this time it was much worse.

Breakdown stood up, desperate to escape his steadily darkening thoughts. Slowly, he made his rounds through the small room they were all forcefully crammed into. The drones around him greeted him wearily, much too tired to properly address him according to his rank. Though they were all worthless slaves now, they still saw him as their superior officer and treated him as such. The former wrecker found himself slowly acquainting himself with them, there were so few left after all. The drones were dying, slowly succumbing to exhaustion and low fuel. In these dark times, their best option was to stick together.

Breakdown soon discovered that most of them had taken on human names, but couldn’t bring himself to care. The drones proved to be good company, not that he ever hated them. Out of all the Decepticon officers, he had probably been the one to treat them with the most respect. He sat down and they immediately gathered around him, taking some comfort from the close proximity of their comrades. Wordlessly he began examining them, fixing broken digits and joints, helping to put broken arms in splints. During his time as Knock Out’s assistant he had been taught basic first aid and now, in their current predicament, he was very glad for that fact.

They stayed like this throughout the duration of the night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I’m sooo sorry for keeping you guys waiting so long! These past few months have been hectic for me and I just couldn’t find the time to sit down and write. Thank you for all of your wonderful comments and kudos and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

He was lying on something firm, uncomfortable against his backstrut and causing a dull ache in his already stiff joints. Ratchet groaned as he slowly came to, fidgeting ever so slightly to relieve the feeling, flexing his digits. His vision was blurry at first, but slowly things became more focused as he became more aware and once they did, he immediately recognized where he was. The barren white metal walls,almost impossibly smooth and pristine, the single berth and an energon IV only left one choice. The Iacon Central Clinic. Well, there went the hope of waking up in some little hospital he could easily leave without suspicion. Here he would no doubt be closely monitored. Frag. 

Grunting, he tried to heaving himself into a vertical position, movements slow and clumsy due to the drugs still coursing through his system. Only to realize that he couldn’t. Optic ridges furrowing in confusion, he tried again only to be met with the same result. Shaking his helm to eliminate some of the drug induced haze, his optics landed on the slim armband latched around his servo, securing it to the berthrame. Vents stuttering, he glanced at his other arm, finding a similar ring of metal attached firmly to his appendage. He tried moving his legs, but they were tied as well. The medic was effectively restrained, only able to shift uncomfortably. Teal optics widened. Frag, frag, frag! This wasn’t supposed to happen!

“Oh, I see you’re finally awake.” 

Chest plate heaving in an effort to keep himself relatively calm, Ratchet turned his helm in the speaker’s direction. If he was feeling fear before, now he felt absolute horror as he recognized the unfortunately very familiar white and blue frame standing at the doorway. Pharma. “You..”

“Me,” the mech practically purred as he strutted into the room, watching the bound form with undisguised delight. The medic felt his plate crawl at the sight of the sadistic glee in Pharma’s blue optics. 

Taking a deep vent, Ratchet spoke up again, somehow managing to keep his voice steady despite the terror coursing through him. “Why am I tied up?” Pharma’s plating twitched at that, optics narrowing a fraction.

“So, you’re really going to play that game, huh? How dissapointing..” The mech feigned a bored sigh, leaning against the wall almost lazily. Ratchet wasn’t fooled by that in the least. Right now, Pharma was a predator and he was the prey. He would have to choose his words carefully. 

Feigning a perplexed look, the medic questioned. “Game? I wouldn’t call being attacked by ‘Cons and then waking up tied up by my own faction a game.” He pulled at the restraints despite already knowing that they wouldn’t budge. His digits flexed as he tried to analyze his surroundings as discreetly as possible. This was bad, he doubted that he could convince Pharma that he was not a traitor. They hated each other as it were which was probably why the mech was assigned to him. Slag. He shouldn’t have acted so openly about his dislike for the Decepticons’s situation.

“That’s of course only if you were attacked.” Pharma’s smirk seemed to only grow as he said this. Pushing off the wall, the white mech approached the bound form, relishing the flinch his close proximity caused. “They found the guard dead by the door, most likely a victim of a surprise attack from your slave. I must say, it got lucky. If it were just a fraction slower, it would’ve failed in its attempt. You were found unconscious and bleeding out by the Communications station. Apparently you immediately contacted the authorities before facing the slaves yourself, except you weren’t successful. In their haste to get out, they missed their shot and you managed to survive long enough to be found.”

Ratchet frowned, becoming increasingly suspicious as he watched the white frame of his interrogator. “Why are you telling me things that I already know?” He couldn’t suppress the disgusted shiver that went through his body as Pharma leaned in, invading his personal space. The E.M field brushing against his was practically buzzing with malice and sadistic joy. He pulled his own as far away from the unpleasant sensation as possible.

“Because I don’t buy it.” The mech grinned, baring pearly white dentae in a cruel grin. “I find it odd that you failed to keep a close optic on your little pet and that you didn’t put up much of a fight against a malnourished slave, not to mention that you didn’t utilize the collar while it was still on it. And it would’ve taken at least a few minutes to take off the collars so that they couldn’t be tracked. If you had been shot right after the guard, then you would’ve bled out by the time the Elite Guard got there, meaning that you stood there doing nothing while they freed themselves. Now, I find that highly unlikely. Of course you can say that the slave took its collar off before the attack, but then you would’ve been alerted.” Ratchet’s optics slowly widened, Pharma only grinned. “There’s also your wound. Why was the guard killed and you were not? An average medic would undoubtedly say that you were just lucky, the shot was made in haste, thus missed its mark and you dented your helm by falling back against the table, knocking yourself out in the process. But I know better.” The mech reached out, tracing said dent with one long digit. The old medic cringed away as much as he could, terror clearly evident in his teal optics. But Pharma wasn’t finished yet. “I compared the dent with the arm cannon your little pet has, the one you forbade us to remove, but also the one we managed to deactivate, remember? Well, it was a perfect match. Now why would it waste its time by knocking you out first before shooting you, hmm?” He leaned even closer, now face to face with the older medic. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t put two and two together, Ratchet?”

Ratchet lunged forward, helm slamming against the other mech’s faceplate with a sickening crack. With a pained cry the white mech stumbled back, clutching at his cracked face, bright energon seeping through his digits. “It’s ‘he’, Pharma, not ‘it’. He’s a sentient being, not property. He’s a person who was given a horrifying sentence, one that no living being deserves. We all fought in the war, we’re all monsters! The only difference between us is who won.”

Pharma glared at him through energon stained digits, slowly taking them away from his wounded faceplate. His mouth stretched in a crooked grin, baring the jagged shards of what was left of his dentae, luminescent life blood oozing down his chin. “Well, that sounds like a confession to me, don’t you think so, boys?” The door slid open with a soft hiss before the white medic even finished. Two mechs walked in, dark blue and gold plating glinting in the sterile light of the room. With a deep sense of trepidation, Ratchet’s teal optics traced their shoulders, finally landing on insignias engraved there. The Elite Guard.

“Chief Medical Officer Ratchet.” He looked up, gathering what was left of his resolve as he met the cold blue gaze of the officer now standing next to the berth. “You are under arrest for treason against the Prime and the High Council of Cybertron.” Everything seemed to go in slow motion after that. He didn’t hear the officer inform of his rights, he didn’t notice as he was slowly pulled to his feet, his wound pulsing painfully at the non too gentle handling. All he was aware of that he failed and now Shockwave, Soundwave, the other Cons even Blurr were in grave danger. He couldn’t afford to tell the Elite Guard anything, he had to remain silent, no matter what.

“Oh and Ratchet?” The medic looked back, watching the energon stained frame from the corner of his optic. Pharma’s optics flashed. “That Cortical Physic Patch you tried to sabotage? We fixed it.” Before the words could fully sink in, Ratchet was ushered away.

 

Shockwave resisted the urge to slam his servo against the monitor, once again reminding himself that what he was feeling was irrelevant to the task at hand. The old monitor Blurr had provided was salvageable, but it needed extensive repairs. The blue Autobot had been extremely helpful, bringing whatever parts he could find some of which Shockwave could use. Those that he couldn’t they stored away, after all, the purple mech was known for his genius and the spare parts could prove to be useful in the future. Soundwave stood nearby, fiddling with a broken Communications device. Their com links had been disabled upon capture and Bumblebee was still being watched, so he could not bring the visor. Which left the spy with no ways of communication save his vocalizer. 

Shockwave knew of Soundwave’s dislike for speaking, though he did not quite understand why. There were no defects in the mech’s vocalizer other than its misuse. Why make things more difficult by seeking alternate methods of communicating than what was readily available? It made no sense and frustrated him to no end. 

He’d long since cast all emotions aside, labeling them as illogical and a hindrance to the Decepticon cause. In fact, he would’ve deleted them if he could. So why was he succumbing to them now? Why did his spark clench at the mere possibility that Ratchet had died and his death covered up? Why care about a sentimental fool? 

To top it all off he could not fix the monitor quickly enough. With the rate with which Blurr brought in new parts, it would take maybe two Earth weeks to bring it into working order. Shockwave hated that, hated being blind and deaf to what was going on above ground. If they were going to free their comrades and escape, they had to move soon, before the Autobots got even more cautious and fortified the already dense security around the remaining captives. But he knew that he couldn’t blame the racer. Blurr barely got any recharge, running back and forth to bring new items, all the while managing to keep the pub open to keep up appearances. 

Shockwave considered trying to convince the Autobot to let them out to scavenge. It was a stupid move, true, but at that moment it made the most sense. They needed to speed up and desperate times called for desperate measures. Ratchet had said that the Cortical Psychic Patch was out of commission, so the Autobots could not use that to get the information they needed. And Shockwave could start torture, had invented some methods himself even. Also, in his opinion, he was replaceable. Soundwave and Knock Out could easily take his place. They needed more materials.

Just as the scientist was about to stand to search for the blue racer, said ‘Bot rushed into the room, startling both slaves with his sudden appearance. Gasping desperately for air, Blurr doubled over, grasping at the wall for stability, legs trembling from holding his own weight up. “We-we...” He coughed, chestplate heaving from the effort. Soundwave approached him cautiously, reaching out to stop the little mech from completely toppling over with a servo since Blurr was apprehensive of his tentacles. “We-have-to-move.” The Bot managed to spit out, shooting the spy a grateful glance. “The-Elite-Guard... They-arrested-Ratchet.” 

Both decepticons stiffened, optics widening as the words slowly sink in. In a split second Shockwave was by the monitor, detaching it from the wall and sub spacing what he could. Glancing over his shoulder at the Autobot, he questioned as Soundwave moved to gather the essentials as well. “How long ago?”

“I’d-say-a-few-hours-before-they-released-the-news-to-the-public.” Blurr said, regaining some strength. “I-came-as-soon-as-I-heard”

“They may have already started the interrogation, we cannot afford to linger here.” The scientist stated grimly when the Autobot hesitated. Seeing the doubt on the other’s face, he continued. “I doubt that the medic will say anything willingly, but we can’t take that chance.” His tone was harsher than he intended it to be and Shockwave internally cursed at the blatant show of emotion. He was a scientist slag it! He had to stay objective!

Blurr nodded slowly in understanding, blue optics dim and unhappy. It was obvious that he wanted to argue, but instead he looked up, meeting Shockwave’s optics evenly. “Alright.” He said after taking a deep vent. “Let’s-get-out-of-here..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if I made Pharma a little too... OOC. It’s been years since I’ve watched G1 unfortunately.


	16. Chapter 16

The same sight greeted him every time he opened his optics. Four bare walls of a dull grey color surrounding him on all sides, entrapping him, with only a lone window to offer him some comfort, but nowadays he suspected that it was there to torment him, to serve as an illusion that freedom was just there, within his grasp, that maybe if he tried he could reach it. He always failed. It was the perfect prison. ‘A prison of my own making,’ he thought bitterly, dull red optics watching stray droplets of acid sizzle against the metal windowsill. He looked up, tracing the dark sky. He knew exactly how to navigate it, every twist and turn and dip. His wings twitched in remembrance of flying. How he wished to traverse the sky again, to be free..

He slammed his servo against the barren wall only to grab at it a second later, hissing in pain. There wasn’t even anything he could use to distract himself, Ultra Magnus was a practical mech and the entertainment of his slave wasn’t necessary. It bothered Starscream, but he assumed that negligence was better than what most of his comrades were being subjected to. Though he didn’t show attachment, instead ‘throwing them under the bus’ as the humans would say, some part of the seeker cared about those mechs. He’d fought alongside them for millennia, knew everything there was too know, probably even more than they knew about themselves. How Soundwave would shift almost imperceptibly from pede to pede before finally resigning to lean against the monitor when he was tired of standing and too proud to find a seat. How Knock Out would imitate Megatron behind the warlord’s back when the latter was too lost in another grand speech. How Shockwave would sometimes try to step out of his comfort zone by doing something ‘normal’ mechs did when nobody was looking, fail miserably, and then bury himself in another project, stewing from embarrassment.

It was true that Megatron and Starscream never quite saw eye to eye. More than that, the seeker had tried on multiple occasions to usurp the warlord’s position. The situation worsened after they were forced to abandon his trinemates during battle. While they were somewhat able to work together before, the incident tore a deep rift between them. While Megatron was a strong and able leader, he couldn’t see the whole picture like Starscream could. The seeker tended to the people under his command, nurtured them, paid attention to their strengths and weaknesses. Megatron didn’t care about those things. Though he was undeniably intelligent, he just didn’t possess the level of strategical brilliance his second in command did. Perhaps that’s why, despite all his failures, Megatron kept him around. The seeker was a constant reminder for the warlord to always remain sharp and to not get too comfortable with his position. There would always be someone out there who would want to take his place. Perhaps Starscream realized that too and kept playing that role for many, many years.

Venting a heavy sigh, he slid down the wall until he was crouching on the dull gray floor. What did it matter now anyway? All that was gone now, nothing more but a distant memory. His whole life now, his purpose was to serve a new master, one he despised and loathed with every inch of his being. He had no illusions of ever escaping this fate. The Decepticons were no more, they were merely trophies now, just objects to be paraded around, reminding everyone to never go against the Council or the Autobots ever again. The Cybertronian society would never know freedom and after the decepticons’s defeat, they would not dare to fight for it. Starscream grit his dentae at the thought.

Red optics fell on his wrist plating and he turned the appendage, the scratched surface glinting slightly in the dim light. Could this be his only ticket out of here? To freedom? It’d be so easy.. His claws, though altered and not as sharp as they were before would be enough to do the job, he was certain of it. Dim red optics widened momentarily in horror and he turned away, rising hastily to his pedes, beginning to almost feverishly pace in the small room. No, this wasn’t the answer, it was never the answer! They’d find another way or die honorably fighting for what was right. He would not give in to temptation to take the easy way out, the cowards way out. But then.. wasn’t that what he always was? A coward?

The door opened suddenly, almost slamming against the wall with enough force to make the walls and floor faintly vibrate. Ultra Magnus stormed in, blue optics flashing with a ferocious fury that Starscream had never seen before in the collected Autobot. An undignified yelp wrung itself from his vocalizer as a servo clamped over his neck cables, causing the metal to squeal in protest at the tight grip. The seeker cringed back as much as he could, claws scrabbling desperately to alleviate the pressure, vents struggling. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Ultra Magnus’s voice was deceptively soft, almost kind even, if his rage wasn’t so obvious in the stiffness of his frame and the tight hold around Starscream’s neck.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Autobot!” Starscream hissed, red optics flashing as he fought for freedom, violently writhing in hopes of dislodging the larger bots’s hold. Ultra Magnus leaned only closer, blue optics flashing with cold fire.

“You convinced the medic, Ratchet to betray our cause and staged the escape of two slaves, the communications officer and the scientist.” The seeker’s optics widened. Soundwave and Shockwave had.. had escaped? But how?! He’d known Ratchet to be sympathetic to their predicament, but he’d never expected the Prime’s lapdog to grow a back strut and actually take initiative! Where were they now, were they safe? For reasons unknown that worried him more than the very real danger he was being currently presented with. Angered by his silence, the Magnus slammed him against the wall, the seeker grunting and coughing in pain at the violent action. “You are the Decepticon Second in Command, one of the best strategists the decepticons had and you’re also known for being untruthful, Starscream,” The Autobot practically hissed, “But I would strongly discourage lying to me now, this doesn’t have to be any more painful for you than it already is.”

But Starscream had had enough. He would not be a coward any longer or this would never end. He would no longer submit to these disgusting excuses for Cybertronians. The seeker would prove Megatron, his true master, his allegiance. How long had it been since he’d last fought back? When exactly had he started groveling just to survive? Was it after the loss of his trinemates? The fact that he was being accused of staging the escape of his comrades now seemed strangely flattering to him. The Autobots still saw the brilliant strategist within him, the second in command of the fearsome warlord, Megatron himself. Why not live up to their expectations? His red optics narrowed into slits, clawed hands grabbed onto the offending servos, pulling them away with difficulty from his abused throat. “I staged nothing.” He growled, the darkened room flashing red as an angry fire and determination lit up his crimson optics. “And even if I did, I would never betray my comrades or my beliefs.. unlike you.”

WHAM! 

A silver servo crashed into his jaw, the force sending him flying to the floor. The Autobot was upon him in a nano-second, immobilizing him. There was nothing left of the usually level headed and cold Autobot SIC. Instead there was rage, frightening, terrifying anger that shook the seeker to his core. The Autobot leaned in, one servo holding his wrists high above his helm while the other trailed slowly, threateningly over his quivering flank. “I’d received this order a few mega-cycles ago,” the larger mech spoke, his voice suddenly returning to its usual pitch, the words cold and almost professional. “I’m fortunate that I put it off for this long, perhaps it will help loosen your glossa..” 

Starscream’s optics widened.

////////////////////////////////////

A silver fist slammed into the wall, but the force behind it was too weak to even make a dent. Suddenly the fist uncurled, now grasping at the wall instead of lashing out as a his chassis heaved with suppressed emotions. He would not cry, he would not give the Prime the satisfaction of seeing him broken. He was Megatron, the emperor of destruction. Emotions were irrelevant to him, a nuisance, a sign of weakness and he was anything but weak. But despite how many times he told himself that, the warlord couldn’t stop the images from surfacing. They flashed before his optics at every little sound, at any smallest sensation that reminded him of that night. He pushed them back, hate, anger and shame coursing through him and making his empty tank roil. He’d always dreamed of snuffing the Prime’s spark, but his dreams had never been this vivid, this brutal. Megatron had planned to give his old rival a warrior’s death, partly perhaps because of their history. But now he dreamed of tearing him to shreds, using every dirty trick he knew, pulling him apart piece by piece and watching the energon and inner components spill to the floor and stain his armor an electric blue.

He nurtured those dreams, clung to them, believing that only that way he could survive this and once again rise as the fearsome warlord he once was. But despite his bloodlust, deep down he was terrified. Because he didn’t want to experience that again, never. Sometimes Megatron’s dreams would turn to nightmares, Optimus Prime prevailing him in battle and once again subjecting him to that torture. The warlord would jolt awake, trembling, his claws ripping into the thin sheet he’d been bestowed upon. It wasn’t just in his dreams. He couldn’t stop himself from flinching every time the Prime approached to give him his meager share of energon, couldn’t stop himself from watching the mech closely, as if afraid that he would drag him away again.

Disgusted, shamed and filled with burning fury, Megatron let his forehelm lean against the wall, a shaky vent escaping him. Is this how Knock Out had felt when that foul Autobot rookie had defiled him? Shame rippled through his spark as he remembered his last interaction with the medic. He should have been able to protect them, all of them! As a leader, he should have been closer to his soldiers, should have known their strengths and weaknesses as intimately as Starscream did. But it was too late for that now.

Slowly, he slid to crouch on the floor, his shaking legs no longer able to support his weight. Sharp claws traced over the silver armor of his forearms, increasing the pressure by increments, the room filling with an unpleasant screeching of metal against metal as energon bubbled and slowly dripped from the shallow cuts. Never before had Megatron felt this.. filthy, disgusting, used. The shower he’d been allowed to use did nothing to alleviate the feeling of the Autobot filth on his frame. Briefly, he wondered if it ever would even if they managed to escape. While he had the utmost confidence in Shockwave and Soundwave, the news of the capture of the Autobot medic put them at a greater disadvantage. If that wasn’t enough, every captive decepticon would be subjected to the Cortical Psychic Patch in a vain attempt to locate their missing comrades. Fortunately, they had not yet formulated a plan, nor did they know where the other two former officers were or who was aiding them. But despite that, somewhere deep down Megatron was afraid. For himself and for his people. But most of all, he feared that they would not be successful.

A frustrated yell filled with unbridled fury wrung itself from his throat, red optics set ablaze. He would not be beaten! He’d rebelled once and he would do so again! And this time, for the fate of all of Cybertron, he would win.


End file.
